IHOS.HARTNUf 


The  Poems  of  Ida  Ahlborn  Weeks 


THE  POEMS 

OF 

IDA  AHLBORN    WEEKS 


Souvenir  Edition 


PUBLISHED  BY  HER  FRIENDS 

SABULA,  IOWA 

1910 


Copyright,  1910 
BY  L.  T.   WEEKS 


SRLE 
URL 


— Spend  in  all  things  else, 
But  of  old  friends  be  most  miserly. 
— Lowell. 


Contents 

Be  Hospitable  to  My  Thought I 

The  End  2 

Three  Months  to  Live      ......          3 

In  St.  Luke's  Hospital      ......         4 

Salutation        ........         4 

Going  Home  ........         5 

Death 6 

Release  ........          7 

Free 8 

The  City  in  the  Clouds 8 

Where  Roses  Bloom,  O  Let  Us  Go  !          .         .         .         9 
Hark  to  the  Night !  ......       10 

The  Silent  Preacher          .          .          .  •       .          .          .11 
Cinnamon  Ferns      .  .          .          .          .          .12 

Blow,  Winds  of  the  Prairie  !     .          .          .          .         .13 

September      ........       14 

The  Coming  of  Autumn  .          .          .          .          .  15 

An  Autumn  Confession    .          .          .          .          .          .16 

Anointed  Eyes         .         .         .          .          .          .          .17 

My  Love        .         .         .         .          .          .          .          .18 

Song      .........        19 

My  Heart  Has  Laid  Hold  of  Thee  !  ...       20 

Lilacs    .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .21 

The  Sensitive  Rose  of  the  Prairie        ....       22 

How  Well  Do  I  Love  You  ? 23 

The  Atlas  of  the  Heart 24 

Rare  Sweetness        .......        24 

Assimilation     ........       25 

My  Heart  is  Building  a  Highway       ....       26 

Our  Sister       ........       27 

What  I  Would  Do  for  Thee 28 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 

By  Perversion          .......  29 

The  Woman  in  the  Corn          .         .                   .  30 

Individual  Justice     .         .         .         .         .         •  3 1 

Song 32 

Let  it  Pass 33 

Surrender        ........  34 

Divine  Care   ........  35 

I  Lay  Me  Hold  of  Thee  ! 36 

Increased  Trust       .         .         .         .         .         .         •  37 

A  Common  Prayer  .         .         .         .         .         .38 

The  Reformer 39 

"  Let  My  People  Go  " 41 

Our  Present  Help    .......  42 

Arm  me  With  Love         ......  44 

Divine  Help 45 

The  Song  of  Love  .......  46 

Faith  and  Reason     .......  47 

Rejected  and  Betrayed      ......  48 

De  Profundis ........  49 

O,  the  Impartial  Christ ! 50 

Complicity     .         .         .         .         .         .         .  51 

God  is  Good 52 

The  Changeful  Days  Go  By 53 

After  the  Martyrdom        .         .         .         .         .         •  54 
Thy  Presence          .         .         .         .         .         .         -55 

Whom  Does  the  Giant  Fear  ? 56 

My  Gift 57 

A  Tale  for  the  Critic 58 

The  Point  of  View 59 

Poetic  License         .......  60 

A  Mystic  Song        .......  60 

Life  Follows  Song   .......  61 

The  Pearl  of  Song 62 

All  My  Life  I've  Been  a  Singer          ....  62 

Beauty  is  Never  Afar       .         .         .         .         .         .63 

Before  a  Painting     .......  63 

Heart  Sickness 64 

[  viii  ] 


CONTENTS 

"  Roughness "         .         .         .         .         .         .         -64 

A  Farther  East        .  "       .         .         .  .         .65 

My  Mistake  .         .         .         .         .         .      ,  .         .66 

Pruning  .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .66 

Let  Us  Abide  in  Love      .         .         .         .  -67 

Premonition    .          .          .          .  .         .          .68 

Living  Beauty          .......       69 

Lost  Harmony  Restored  ......       70 

At  Home       .         .         .  .         .         .         -7* 

My  Bridge     ........       72 

When  Will  They  Come  ? 73 

A  Song  of  Egypt 74 

Lighten  Your  Ship  .         .         .         .         .         .         -75 

Not  Twice 76 

Loss  and  Gain         .         .         .         .         .         .         -77 

Consolation     ........        78 

The  Nearest  Duty  .......       79- 

A  Song  of  Academic  Liberty     .....       80 

"  No  Room  in  the  Inn  " 82 

A  Christmas  Rondel         .         .         .         .         .         -83 

The  Crafty  Violinist 84 

Burns    .........        87 

Eugene  Field 88 

Endure  ........       89 

Readjustment  .......       90 

SONNETS 

To-morrow    ........  91 

Sunsets  .........  92 

At  Worship    ........  93 

Thy  Will  Be  Done 94 

Interpretation  .         .         .         .         .         •         •  95 

Love's  Victory        .......  96 

O,  Radiant  Light  of  Love  ! 97 

Personality     ........  98 

Without  Haste 99 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 

In  the  Forest  .......     100 

In  Open  Air *    .         .         .101 

The  Poet  to  the  Reader,  I 102 

The  Reader  to  the  Poet,  II 103 

The  Sonnet 104 

Renunciation  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .105 

Progress  .         .          .          .          .          .          .          .106 

Vindication     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .107 

Waiting          .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .108 

JUVENILE  VERSE 

"  Mr.  Ten  Minutes  " 109 

When  Baby  Learned  to  Walk    .          .          .         .         .no 

The  Cradle  Song 1 1 1 

The  Ensign-bearer  of  Fontenoy  .         .         .         .112 

Myrtle's  Song         .          .  .          .          .  113 

A  Busy  Saturday      .         .         .         .         .         .         .114 

Primrose  Hill  .         .         .         .         .         .  •        •     '  1 5 

Sudden  Healing       .          .          .          .          .          .          .116 

The  Dearest  of  All 117 

The  Thunder  Side 1 1 8 

"  In  the  Cushion "  .         .         .         .         .         .118 

"  Over  One  and  Under  Two"          .         .         .         .119 

A  Wonderful  Basket          .          .          .          .          .  1 20 

The  Innkeeper's  Daughter          .          .          .          .          .121 

Where  Does  the  Ice  Go  ?         .         .         .         .         .123 

Sleep,  My  Baby,  Sleep    .         .         .         .         .         .124 

Slumber  Song         .         .         .         .         .         .         .125 

A  Man  of  Many  Climes  .         .         .         .         .         .      1 26 

QUATRAINS 

Time  Enough         .         .         .         .         .         .         .128 

The  Critic 128 

Primal  Necessity      .         .         .         .         .         .         .128 

Strenuous  Life         .         .         .         .         .         .  1 29 


CONTENTS 

Sudden  Death          .  .         .         .  .  .  .129 

A  Household  Picture  .         .         .  .  .  1 29 

At  Dawn        .         .  .         .         .  .  .  1 29 

Pursuit  .         .         .  .         .         .  .  .  .130 

Primroses        .         .  .         .         .  .  .  .130 

Election  Day           .  .         .         .  .  .  .130 

"  The  Real  Thing  " 1 30 

Desert  Dwellers 131 

A  Nature  Faker       .  .         .         .  .  .  -131 

Anticipation    .          .  .          .          .  .  -131 

Arise  ! 131 

Kansas  Skies  .         .  .          .          .  .  .  .132 

Materialism     .          .  .          .          .  .  .  .132 

Hidden  Resources    .  .          .          .  .  .  .132 

The  Little  Arms      .  .         .         .  .  .  -133 

The  Solution  .         .  .         .         .  .  .  133 

Resignation     .         .  .         .         .  .  .  133 

Who  Loves    .         .  .         .         .  .  .  .134 

To  Nature      .          .  .          .          .  .  .  134 

Wild  Fancies            .  .          .          .  .  .  .134 

Interruption    .          .  .          .          .  .  .  .134 

My  Choice    .         .  .         .         .  .  .  135 

A  Prayer        .         . 135 

How  Far  ?              .  .         .         .  .  .  1 3  5 

Rest      .         .         .  .         .         .  .  .  .136 

Great  Souls    .         .  .         .         .  .  .  .136 

"  I'm  Nobody  "—Emily  Dickinson  .  .  .  .136 


[xi] 


Friendship  is  a  sheltering  tree. 

—  Coleridge. 

Wenn  Laokoon  der  Schlangen 
Sich  erwehrt  mit  namenlosem  Schmerz, 
Da  empore  sich  der  Mensch !  Es  schlage 
An  des  Himmels  Wolbung  seine  Klage 
Und  zerreisse  euer  fiihlend  Herz ! 

—Schiller. 

Wer  nie  sein  Brod  mit  Thranen  ass, 
Wer  nie  die  kummervollen  Nachte 
Auf  seinem  Bette  weinend  sass, 
Er  kennt  euch  nicht,  ihr  himmlischen  Machte. 

— Goethe. 


Poems 


BE  HOSPITABLE  TO  MY  THOUGHT 

BE  hospitable  to  my  thought ! 
That  I  have  spoken  it  to  thee 
Is  token  of  my  confidence 

That  merits  some  kind  courtesy. 

Be  hospitable  to  my  thought ! 

However  little  seem  its  worth ; 
Nay,  though  it  had  no  worth  at  all 

Except  to  rouse  contempt  or  mirth. 

Be  hospitable  to  my  thought ! 

Oh,  more  than  bread  and  wine  to  me, 
The  kindly  patience  with  my  thought, — 

The  mind's  fair  hospitality. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  END 

SOME  night  will  come  the  end, 
Or  in  the  cheerful  day 
The  spirit  done  with  clay 
Will  wing  its  homeward  way. 

Let  it  be  day  or  night  — 

I  do  not  choose  or  care ; 
My  spirit  grows  aware 
Of  native  realms  of  air. 

When  ripe  to  claim  its  own, 
What  easy  transit  then 
From  alien  zone  of  men 
To  its  own  clime  again ! 


[2] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


THREE  MONTHS  TO  LIVE 

SO  brief  a  time  for  me  ? 
If  you  had  said  three  days, 
I  still  would  go  my  ways 
Serene  and  free. 
For,  the  eternal  years 
Have  neither  doubts  nor  fears. 
Your  piercing  surgeon's  eye 
Sees  but  what  passes  by ; 
Your  surgeon's  hand  can  feel 
What  forces  harm  and  heal. 
But,  past  your  human  ken, 
The  eternal  souls  of  men ! 


[3] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


IN  ST.  LUKE'S  HOSPITAL 

A  MIST  hangs  over  the  lake, 
And  the  dancing  waves  are  hid ; 
But  I  know  the  white-caps  leap 
Gay  under  the  murky  lid. 

And  I  know  the  sea-gulls  fly 
Skimming  the  water's  crest ; 

And  under  your  cloud,  believe, 
life  moves  for  your  gain  and  rest. 


SALUTATION 

HUSHED  be  detraction's  angry  cry ! 
Hushed  be  the  bare  and  barren  truth 
Thou  art  a  fellow  man,  as  I, 
Departing  daily  from  thy  youth. 

Across  the  gulf  of  hate  and  harm 

I  reach  a  kindly  hand  to  thee ; 
And  of  the  great  Unshortened  Arm 

May  it  a  welcome  symbol  be ! 

[4] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


GOING  HOME 

I'M  going  home ! 
I've  tarried  on  the  alien  plain  so  long 
That  in  my  throat  has  almost  died  the  song — 
I'm  going  home ! 

I'm  going  home, 

Where  snowy  peaks  salute  the  summer  sky 
And  call  to  life  again  the  submerged  I  — 

I'm  going  home ! 

I'm  going  home ! 

I  touch  again  the  great  ancestral  heights, 
And  lo !  my  dark  blooms  into  countless  lights— 

I'm  going  home ! 


'[5] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


DEATH 

WE  shrink  from  death,  yet  it  may  be 
A  final  act  of  charity, 
The  only  kindness  left  to  show 
That  God  remembers  ache  and  throe. 
"  Come  quickly,  Death,"  how  often  pray 
They  who  have  seen  life  waste  away, 
Till  even  love  could  hardly  find 
The  old  familiar  face  and  mind. 
O  speed  thee,  Death,  and  bring  release ; 
For  pain  give  thy  unbroken  peace. 


[6] 


IDA   AHLBORN   WEEKS 


KELEASE 

HOW  glad  I  am  the  old  proud  life  is  done ! 
No  longer  do  I  need  to  seem  to  know ; 
Released  at  last  from  seeming  and  from  show, 
How  evenly  I  see  my  moments  run, 
And  packed  with  true  achievement  every  one. 

No  vagrant  longing  for  the  stately  years 

Disturbs  my  peaceful  hours.     I  have  no  place 
That  asks  of  me  a  certain  form  and  grace ; 
Reduced  to  nothingness  I  lose  my  fears 
And  turn  to  action  all  my  fount  of  tears. 


[7] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


FREE 

I  HEAR  the  turnkey  at  the  door ; 
The  iron  bolts  he  draws, 
And  I  the  prey  of  courts  and  laws 
Shall  see  the  violets  bloom  once  more. 

And  you  beside — oh !  rapturous  day ! 
And  the  thrushes  flooding  the  wood 
With  the  songs  we  understood 

"When  love  swept  all  our  doubts  away. 


THE  CITY  IN  THE  CLOUDS 

TO  a  city  I  am  going 
Wondrous  fair ; 
This  is  but  a  highway 
Leading  there. 

Stay  me  not,  I  hasten, 

For  I  see 
Spires  and  lights  and  turrets 

Beckon  me. 

[8] 


IDA   AHLBOEN   WEEKS 


WHERE  ROSES  BLOOM,  O  LET  US  GO  I 

WHERE  roses  bloom,  O  let  us  go  ! 
Far  from  this  land  of  ice  and  snow, 
"Where  the  auroras  glow. 
Arise,  my  love,  and  let  us  go 
Where  once  again  the  roses  grow. 

How  came  we  here,  I  do  not  know. 
In  some  dark  hour  when  hope  was  low, 
And  every  friend  became  a  foe, 
We  must  have  turned  to  ice  and  snow 
And  left  the  land  where  roses  grow. 

I  feel  again  the  fragrant  zephyrs  blow, 
I  hear  again  the  limpid  waters  flow, 
The  merry  scythe-men  as  they  mow. 
O  joy !    O  life !  for  we  shall  go 
Where  once  again  the  roses  grow. 


[9] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


HAEK  TO  THE  NIGHT ! 

HAKK  to  the  night : 
The  never-ceasing  hum, 
The  far-off  baying  of  a  hound, 

A  mandolin's  soft  thrum, 
A  sound 

Of  youthful  voices  in  delight. 
Say  not  The  silent  night  — 
The  voicef  ul  night ! 

She  has  her  eloquence 
Beyond  the  vulgar  sense, 
An  infinite  variety ; 
She  knows  to  make 
To  all  who  wake 
Her  own  melodious  plea. 


[10] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


THE  SILENT  PREACHER 

THE  preacher  tells  of  Paul, 
And  Paul  at  second  hand 
Is  harder  than  at  first, 
I  fear,  to  understand. 

But  when  four  windows  give 
A  view  the  fields  across, 

The.  mingled  gold  and  green, 
I  cannot  suffer  loss. 


["I 


THE   POEMS  OF 


CINNAMON  FEKNS 

I  KNOW  a  spot  where  the  ferns, 
The  cinnamon  ferns  are  tall ; 
They  bow  in  the  summer  wind 
An  undulant  madrigal. 

A  gum-tree  stands  alone, 
He  nods  to  the  swaying  fronds ; 

They  heed  him  not,  for  they  dream, 
They  dream  of  the  yonkopin  ponds. 

The  mosses  under  the  spell 
Of  the  waving  wands  above 

Cling  close  to  the  earth  and  drink 
Of  the  hidden  springs  they  love. 


[12] 


IDA   AHLBORN   WEEKS 


BLOW,  WINDS  OF  THE  PRAIRIE  ! 

BLOW,  winds  of  the  prairie,  blow  ! 
Blow  your  message,  blow : 
I  listen,  I  listen  as  low 
As  the  notes  of  the  atmosphere  go ; 
I  listen,  I  listen  as  high 
As  the  ashen  sky. 

O,  I  listen  beyond  the  depth  and  the  height 
To  the  home  of  the  winds  out  of  sight. 
Blow,  winds  of  the  prairie,  blow ; 
Ye  have  withered  my  corn ; 
But  give  me  the  secret  whereof  you  are  born. 
Blow,  winds  of  the  prairie,  blow. 


[13] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


SEPTEMBER 

ALL  the  land  is  flushed  with  yellow,- 
Flowers  of  the  sun ; 
I  have  seen  ten  thousand  thousand 
Blending  into  one. 

All  the  land  is  flushed  with  yellow ; 
Goldenrod  is  here. 

0  thou  prodigal  September, 
Spendthrift  of  the  year. 

1  the  provident,  I  gather 
Of  thy  gold  to  buy 

In  the  winter  food  and  raiment 
When  the  orphans  cry. 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


THE  COMING  OF  AUTUMN 

I  MARKED  the  summer  pass : 
For  days  the  wind  blew  angrily, 
With  now  and  then  a  breath  of  heat, 
That  sapped  the  life  from  men, 
Who  would,  yet  could  not,  flee 
The  sounds  that  beat 

By  night  and  day  on  door  and  window  glass, 
Till  all  the  land  was  like  a  prison-pen, 
Where,  weary  as  the  crew  on  stormy  main, 
We  prayed  for  rest,  we  prayed  for  rain. 
One  night  twice  came  a  lull, 
Then,  after  fiercer  blast, 
A  pattering  music  sweet, — 
I  fell  asleep, 

And  when  the  night  had  passed 
I  woke  in  calm  so  deep, 
So  deep,  and  yet  not  dull : 
And  going  forth  into  the  morning  clear, 
Lo !  Autumn  whispered,  "  I  am  here." 


C'5] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


AN  AUTUMN  CONFESSION 

WHEN  Autumn  days  are  here 
I  catch  the  squirrel's  mood 
From  orchard,  grove,  and  field 
I  gather  up  my  food. 

Do  you  despise  me  quite 
For  my  housewifely  care, 

And  think  I  therefore  miss 
The  Autumn  sweetness  rare  ? 

Once  I  did  also  know 

Mere  literary  days, 
When  free  from  labor's  stress 

I  sang  my  notes  of  praise. 

How  could  I  guess  the  hand 

Of  much  employment 
May  miss  the  dainty  touch 

To  grip  the  whole  intent ! 

O  Autumn,  as  I  glean 

Thy  wholesome  treasures  fair, 
"What  glimpses  of  thy  soul 

Drift  through  the  mellow  air ! 

[id] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 

And  when  thy  glory  comes, 
Thy  good  in  barn  and  bin, 

Oh  !  then  in  leisure  ripe 
I  drink  thy  beauty  in. 

I  yield  me  to  thy  spell, 

And  having  wrought  with  thee, 
I  enter  in  thy  joy, 

Thy  sacred  mystery. 


ANOINTED  EYES 

IT  seemed  that  life  was  bane, 
That  all  its  joys  were  vain, 
As  from  the  house  I  came. 
I  walked  adown  the  hawthorne  lane, 
And  over  me  it  went  like  flame, 
That  life  is  joy, 
That  every  grief,  annoy, 
Is  but  a  straw  upon  the  stream, 
Or  a  forgotten  dream. 


['7] 


THE  POEMS  OF 

MY  LOVE 

THE  thrush  is  here ! 
My  Love  goes  forth  at  dawn 
Music-drawn, 
To  hear  that  songster  clear. 

My  Love  knows  every  note  of  bird, 
An  understanding  seems  to  be 
Between  himself  and  all  we  see  — 

A  mystic  word. 

He  knows  to  mutely  wait 

Like  some  lone  pilgrim  at  the  gate 

Who  tarries  till  my  lord  goes  in, 

And  then  amid  the  din 

He  enters — my  Love  abides  the  hour 

Of  coming  majesty, 
And  on  that  wave  of  power 

He  calmly  floats,  to  see 
A  glory  that  impatient  haste 

Has  never  looked  upon. 
He  fears  no  dearth  nor  waste, 

My  Love,  by  Nature  drawn 
To  confidences  sweet, 

That  even  song  may  not  repeat. 
[18] 


IDA   AHLBORN   WEEKS 


SONG 

OSOUL  of  mine,  awaken  ! 
The  world  awakes  with  thee, 
Its  chain  of  slumber  shaken 
Into  the  morning  sea. 

O  soul  of  mine,  awaken  ! 

The  sleeping  court  below, 
Of  thee,  its  life,  forsaken, 

All  movement  must  forego. 

O  soul  of  mine,  awaken ! 

The  prince  is  at  the  gate  — 
Ah !  by  his  kiss  o'ertaken, 

The  soul  has  found  its  mate ! 


[19] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


MY  HEAKT  HAS  LAID  HOLD  OF  THEE! 

MY  heart  has  laid  hold  of  thee ! 
And  thou  shalt  not  go  away ; 
But  forever  and  a  day 
Shalt  thou  abide  with  me ; 
For  my  heart  has  laid  hold  of  thee. 

As  the  fountain  yearns  for  the  sea, 
So  my  heart  through  the  long,  long  years 
Has  yearned,  and  with  unshed  tears 
Mine  eyes  have  inquired  for  thee, 
Till  the  fountain  has  reached  the  sea. 

My  heart  has  laid  hold  of  thee ! 
As  the  vine  attains  to  heights 
Where  the  wonders  of  days  and  nights 

Break  over  the  mighty  tree, 

So  my  heart  has  attained  to  thee. 


[20] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


LILACS 

2  lilacs  bloom,  a  joy  to  see, 
A  joy  to  breathe  the  sweet  perfume ; 
But  deeper  joy  is  memory, 
When  lilacs  bloom. 

WTiat  now  avails  the  marble  tomb  ? 

Sweet  Maud  walks  reverently 
Kejoicing  in  the  lilac's  plume. 

I  walk  with  her  again  as  free 
As  in  those  days  of  ample  room 

When  it  was  joy  enough  to  me 
That  lilacs  bloom. 


[21] 


THE   POEMS  OF 


THE  SENSITIVE  KOSE  OF  THE  PRAIRIE 

THE  sensitive  rose  of  the  prairie, 
It  shrinks  at  the  touch  of  the  hand ; 
It  shrinks  like  the  heart  of  a  woman 
Whom  love's  first  summons  command. 

The  sensitive  rose  of  the  prairie ! 

Oh,  sweet  are  its  balls  of  pink ; 
As  sweet  as  the  thoughts  of  a  woman 

Who  stands  unaware  on  love's  brink. 

The  sensitive  rose  of  the  prairie, 
It  pines  in  the  garden  or  lawn ; 

It  pines  like  the  life  of  a  woman 
From  its  primal  love  withdrawn. 

The  sensitive  rose  of  the  prairie, 

The  soul  of  the  ardent  plain, 
As  love  is  the  soul  of  the  woman, 

Her  glory  and  rapture  and  pain. 

[22] 


IDA  AHLBORN    WEEKS 


HOW  WELL  DO  I  LOVE  YOU? 

HOW  well  do  I  love  you  ?  oh !  how  well  ? 
Would  you  like  me  to  reckon  and  tell  ? 
Well  enough  to  free  you,  bid  you  go ; 
Tyrants  may  fetter,  but  love  is  not  so. 

How  well  do  I  love  you  ?    Let  me  see : 
Well  enough  to  keep  you  still  with  me, 
Glance  of  your  eye  and  touch  of  your  hand 
Holding  my  pulses  at  your  command. 

How  well  do  I  love  you  ?  oh !  how  well  ? 
What  if  I  let  you  the  story  tell  ? 
"  Well  enough  to  wed  you  when  the  June 
Brings  the  roses  for  our  honeymoon ! " 


[23] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  ATLAS  OF  THE  HEART 

THE  chart  of  knowledge,  Love, 
I  pray  thee  put  it  by ; 
The  facts  are  thick  thereon 
As  stars  upon  the  sky. 

Have  we  not  for  our  use 
An  older,  simpler  chart  ? 

Go  to,  my  Love,  and  bring 
The  atlas  of  the  heart. 


T 


RARE  SWEETNESS 

HERE  is  a  sweetness  rare 

That  always  gives  me  pain, 
The  sweetness  of  a  maid 
Whose  love  has  been  in  vain. 

Though  true  that  birds  may  sing 
The  sweeter,  losing  sight, — 

I  hear  through  all  the  song 
A  wailing  in  the  night. 

[24] 


IDA  AHLBORN    WEEKS 


ASSIMILATION 

FOE  thy  hard  times,  what  cares  the  world  ? 
It  cares  not  what  the  ostrich  eats, 
So  it  give  waving  plumes  to  wear 
Parading  down  the  crowded  streets. 

Nor  do  thou  care,  intent  to  use 
All  times  to  their  transforming  worth : 

To  feed  the  soul  to  beauty's  ends, 
For  this  are  all  the  times  of  earth. 


[25] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


MY  HEAET  IS  BUILDING  A  HIGHWAY 

MY  heart  is  building  all  the  day 
For  you  and  me  a  shining  street ; 
O  wild  and  long  the  mountain  way 
We  two  have  walked  with  bleeding  feet ; 

But  now  across  the  sunlit  plains, 
Through  peaceful  valleys  green  and  fair, 

With  hills  enough  for  far-off  gains, 
Shall  we  not  walk,  a  happy  pair  ? 

My  heart  is  building  night  and  morn 

From  all  the  wrecks  that  we  have  known, 

From  hopes  and  dreams  that  yet  adorn 
A  highway  safe,  and  all  our  own. 


[26] 


IDA   AHLBORN    WEEKS 


OUR  SISTER 

OUR  sister  sleeps  ere  set  of  sun, 
Her  work  has  fallen  from  her  hands ; 
Enough  of  labor  she  has  done  — 
Kind  nature  understands. 

Speak  softly  of  her  many  deeds 

Of  love  and  tenderness  ; 
Still  mindful  of  our  needs, 

And  eager  to  relieve  and  bless. 

Our  sister  sleeps !    How  like  is  she 
To  our  dear  mother  gone  before ; 

Oh,  hush  !     Weep  not  so  bitterly, 
For  love  is  love  f orevermore. 


[27] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


WHAT  I  WOULD  DO  FOE  THEE 

NOW  what  would  I  do  for  thee  ? 
A  deed  so  openly  great 
That  angels  would  wait 
Beside  the  pearly  gate 
To  honor  and  welcome  me  ? 

This  thing  that  I  do  for  thee 
Is  humble  and  unknown : 
While  the  trumpets  are  blown 
I  watch  in  the  dark  alone 

Where  foes  encompass  me. 

But  the  day  will  rise  for  thee 
When  a  good  desired  long 
Will  come  to  thee  like  a  song 
To  the  lips  of  a  poet  strong — 

"  And  this  has  she  done  for  me ! " 


[28] 


IDA  AHLBORN    WEEKS 


BY  PEKVEPJ3ION 

ALL  that  we  dreamed  that  he  might  be, 
Behold,  he  has  attained  to-day ; 
Our  vision  glows  a  verity, 
But  oh  !  how  devious  was  the  way. 

Perverse  at  every  cross  and  turn ! 

Contrariwise  he  sought  the  goal 
By  means  that  once  he  could  but  spurn 

With  all  the  fervor  of  his  soul. 


[29] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  COKN 

I  SAW  her  busy  with  the  hoe, 
A  brown-clad  figure  in  the  corn, 
That  stretched  away  row  after  row, 
That  she  had  traveled  since  the  morn. 

Before  my  mind  a  mansion  rose 
With  gleaming  pillars,  stately  towers ; 

What  tricks  of  trade  the  owner  knows 
Who  made  his  millions  in  three  hours ! 

Yet  with  a  liberal  hand  he  gives 
What  speeds  full  many  a  worthy  cause, 

And  on  his  neighbors'  lips  he  lives 
A  man  who  loves  his  country's  laws. 

But  yonder  from  that  field  of  corn, 
The  corn  on  which  his  gain  was  made, 

I  see  that  toiler  gaunt  and  worn, 
Walk  down  his  marble  colonnade. 

[30] 


IDA   AHLBORN    WEEKS 


INDIVIDUAL  JUSTICE 

1T  \  7E  cannot  wait,"  they  said ; 
V  T       «  "Tis  but  a  single  man." 
And  on  the  Power  sped 
To  keep  its  chosen  plan. 

Yet  that  one  man  became 

A  bar  across  the  path 
As  high  as  Heaven's  name, 

And  hot  as  Heaven's  wrath. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


SONG 

COME,  O  come ! 
It  is  the  month  of  June, 
Full-orbed  the  silver  moon ; 
The  snowy  lilies  on  the  lake 
Are  all  alert,  awake, 
O  Love,  for  thy  dear  sake. 
Come,  O  come ! 

Come,  O  come ! 
The  shining  veil  of  day 
At  last  is  drawn  away ; 
And  in  the  balmy  night 
We  tread  the  spirit's  height, 
Clad  in  immortal  light. 

Come,  O  come ! 


[32] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


LET  IT  PASS 

WHEN  a  man  has  done  thee  wrong, 
Let  it  pass : 

Briefer  than  the  summer  grass 
Or  the  sparrow's  song 
Are  the  deeds  of  evil  done 
Under  the  impartial  sun. 

Evil — 'tis  a  seeming  thing ! 

Let  it  pass 

Like  the  shadow  on  the  grass, 
While  the  tendrils  cling 
To  the  good,  that  cannot  know 
Either  hurt  or  overthrow. 


[33] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


SURRENDER 

HAVE  I  not  done  what  I  could  do  ? 
Now  take  the  lines,  whoever  will ; 
I  drove  the  robber  passes  through, 
I  crossed  the  lightning-riven  hill  — 
Now  take  the  lines,  whoever  will. 

My  panting  steeds  are  good 

For  any  length  of  road ; — 
(Drive  softly  through  the  wood, 

Oh !  softly  by  my  love's  abode.) 
My  foaming  bays  are  eager  still ; 
Now  take  the  lines,  whoever  will. 


[34] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


DIVINE  CARE 

O  WONDROUS  are  thy  ways : 
The  plant  proclaims  thy  power, 
Anew  appears  thy  praise 
In  every  fragile  flower. 

All  creatures  in  thy  thought 

Are  held  with  tender  care ; 
Thy  love  enfolds  them,  though  unsought, 

As  amply  as  the  air. 

A  fragile  plant  am  I 

To  alien  soil  transferred, 
And  half  I  fear  to  die, 

By  change  so  deeply  stirred. 

Yet  thou  who  for  a  weed 

Dost  care  with  tenderness, 
Shalt  thou  not  know  my  need 

And  comfort  me  and  bless  ? 


[35] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


I  LAY  ME  HOLD  OF  THEE! 

I  LAY  me  hold  of  Thee! 
Thou  art  for  me 

And  waiting  for  my  grasp. 
I  lay  me  hold  of  Thee, 

And  feel  thy  answering  clasp. 
I  rise  from  mine  entangling  free, 
Achieving  in  my  liberty 
Along  with  Thee,  O  God,  along  with  thee ! 

With  hostile  forces  long 

I  strove,  and  spent  with  wrong 
I  turned  at  last  to  Thee, 
The  righteous  verity. 

Oh !  grasping  thee  I  found 

Adjustment  far  and  near ; 
My  segment  grew  a  round, 

My  faith  cast  out  intrusive  fear  •, 
For  am  I  not  secure  with  Thee, 
Achieving  in  my  liberty 
Thy  work  that  sets  the  people  free ! 

[36] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


INCREASED  TRUST 

I  TRUSTED  thee— now  shall  I  trust  thee  more? 
Ah  me !  the  fading  shore !  the  fading  shore ! 
The  lights  grow  dim  — 
I  lean  across  the  vessel's  rim ; 
I  fear  the  deep  below, 
And  yet  the  stars  above  me  glow : 
Almighty  God,  hold  thou  me  to  the  course  — 
Retreat — that  were  disgrace,  remorse, — 
Hold  thou  me  to  the  course ! 
The  chartered  way  that  others  go  — 
O  God  !  it  closes — let  me  rise 
To  be  deserving  of  thy  far  surprise, 
Thy  sunlit  isles,  thy  ports 
"Where  wealth,  uncounted  wealth  resorts  — 
Oh !  let  my  courage  rise 
That  I  may  know  thy  far  surprise. 


[37] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


A  COMMON  PRAYER 

I       DO  not  come  to  ask 
Some  blessing  past  the  common  sight, 
Some  vision  rapt  and  rare, 
Reserved  for  saintly  anchorite. 

I  ask  but  that  I  know 
My  fellow  man  without  delay ; 

That  I  discern  the  friend, 
And  mark  the  foe  when  far  away. 

I  ask  but  that  I  feel 
Whatever  message  Nature  brings : 

Responsive  to  the  dawn, 
And  to  the  song  the  throstle  sings. 

This  wisdom  do  I  ask 
From  thy  unbounded  treasure  store  — 

O,  hark !  thy  swift  reply : 
"  All  this,  my  child,  and  always  more." 
[38] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 

How  could  I  guess  who  asked 
For  prudent  gift  and  earthly  things, 

That  to  all  these  thy  love, 
Like  a  pervading  fragrance  clings ! 

My  common  prayer,  O  God, 
Has  reached  thy  throne  of  dazzling  light ; 

And  through  my  earth-born  clay 
I  feel  the  heavenly  visions  smite. 

THE  REFORMER 

ROPING  on  my  way  I  went 

Seeking  still  some  truth  afar, 
Till  at  last  the  East  was  rent 
By  the  rising  of  a  star. 

In  its  radiance  I  saw 

Meaning  in  my  troubled  past ; 
For  the  underlying  law 

To  the  surface  came  at  last. 

He  who  finds  a  cause,  a  lord, 
Leads  no  more  a  filching  rout ; 

Ordered  troops  with  gun  and  sword, 
Aiming  for  the  last  redoubt. 
[39] 


THE  POEMS  OF 

Life  I  used  to  love  and  prize  — 
Now  a  force  whereby  some  good 

To  its  rightful  place  may  rise, 
Honored,  loved,  and  understood. 

Sigh  for  me  who  wills  to  sigh 

For  the  losses  I  sustain 
While  my  years  in  strife  go  by, 

That  to  many  seem  but  vain. 

Call  our  roll  from  Nazarine 
Down  to  Lincoln's  warring  day  — 

Ah  !  the  glory  in  between, 
And  the  ever-upward  way ! 

Oh !  the  vision  high  and  clear 
That  enchants,  allures  me  on, 

Yet  to  many  shall  appear 
Like  the  breaking  of  the  dawn ! 

Come,  then,  combat,  come  what  will, 
All  my  soul  is  in  the  fray ; 

Through  the  marshes,  o'er  the  hill 
"While  the  unseen  bugles  play. 


[40] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


"LET  MY  PEOPLE  GO" 

'T    ET  my  people  go !" 
-L-*  Said  Jehovah  to  the  king, 
"  To  the  desert  worshiping." 
"  Of  Jehovah  naught  I  know," 
Answered  Pharaoh  in  his  scorn ; 
And  he  bade  the  toilers  worn 
Gather  here  and  there  the  straw  • 
Still  the  tale  of  bricks  is  law. 

"  Let  my  people  go ! " 
Shall  Jehovah  speak  in  vain  ? 
He  will  cleave  the  sea  in  twain  ; 
He  will  make  all  Egypt  know 
Through  his  miracles  tenfold 
Who  by  Aaron's  mouth  has  told 
Message  Pharaoh  shall  obey 
Till  the  cry,  «  Away  !    Away ! " 

"  Let  my  people  go ! " 
Listen  all  who  claim  to  be 
Children  of  the  promise  free, 
All  who  tread  the  earth  below, 


THE  POEMS  OF 

Yielding  up  the  only  son, 
Crying  still,  "  Thy  will  be  done  "— 
Slaves  and  exiles  for  a  time, 
Then  deliverance  sublime ! 


OUK  PRESENT  HELP 

WHEN  dangers  close  us  all  around, 
When  truth  for  which  our  souls  have 

striven 

Is  trodden  down  and  shouts  resound, 
Shall  we  escape  then,  panic-driven  ? 
The  undefeated  God, 

"Who  in  a  clod 
Did  breathe  a  soul  divine  — 
His  voice  our  fear  has  riven, 
And  formed  us  into  line. 

Our  hearts  would  melt  in  doubt  away, 
Did  we  not  know  who  holds  the  banner 

That  floats  for  justice  full  and  clear 
To  men  of  every  creed  and  manner. 
[42] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 

Our  God  advances  still 

Beyond  the  will 
Of  men  who  seek  their  own  — 
Behold  his  floating  banner 

On  heights  unsealed,  unknown ! 

Let  fraud  and  craft  surround  our  door, 
Let  devils  watch  our  coming,  going ; 
They  force  us  but  to  strive  the  more 
To  bring  our  spirits  into  showing, 
To  grip  with  all  our  might, 

The  changeless  right, 
To  follow  Him  who  leads, 
His  eager  trumpets  blowing, 
True  men  to  valiant  deeds. 

Though  earthly  losses  may  befall, 

Our  name  and  goods  from  us  be  taken, 
Though  girt  about  by  prison  wall, 
Our  faith  shall  aye  remain  unshaken : 
Our  God  in  whom  we  trust, 

Whose  cause  is  just, 
From  hidden  deep  and  height 
Will  forces  rouse,  awaken 
To  battle  for  the  right. 
[43] 


AKM  ME  WITH  LOVE 

ARM  me  with  love,  O  Son  of  God, 
Thou  who  wert  love  in  human  guise ; 
Defenceless  as  the  crumbling  clod, 
Else  I  confront  the  armed  emprise. 

For  weapons  men  invent,  provide, 

What  can  they  in  stress  avail  ? 
Alas !  the  treacherous  arms  of  pride 

Return  on  him  who  would  assail. 

Equipped  with  love  shall  I  not  know 
The  perfect  courage  that  maintains 

The  fight  until  the  prostrate  foe 
Beholds  the  truth  that  lives  and  reigns ! 

Arm  me  with  love,  again  I  pray ; 

I  have  no  battle  of  my  own ; 
For  Thee,  with  Thee,  I  dare  the  fray, 

The  victory  is  all  Thine  own. 


[44] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


DIVINE  HELP 

ALONE,  alone,  I  seemed  to  be ! 
My  servile  spirit  could  not  see 
The  mountains  full  of  horses  fleet, 
Of  chariots  in  glowing  heat. 

0  Son  of  God,  I  heard  thee  pray  — 
The  darkness  fell  from  me  away  ; 

1  saw  thy  hosts,  I  heard  their  shout, 
And  all  my  fears  were  put  to  rout. 

Now  welcome  combat,  since  I  know 
Who  helps  me  to  oppose  the  foe ; 
Thy  cause,  of  victory  secure, 
Shall  I  not  hazard  and  endure ! 

I  hear  them  rally  to  my  need, 
The  warriors  of  immortal  breed ; 
I,  too,  take  on  immortal  traits, 
And  lose  my  earth-born  loves  and  hates. 
[45] 


THE  POEMS  OF 

O  help  Divine,  encircling  me ! 

0  radiant  army  that  I  see ! 

1  beat  no  more  the  air — I  fight 
Endued  with  all  Jehovah's  might. 


THE  SONG  OF  LOVE 

WHY  do  ye  sing  from  age  to  age, 
Of  love,  and  love  alone  ? 
Ko  other  impulses  of  life 
Have  ye  poor  singers  known  ? 

We  keep  this  theme  the  ages  through, 

Because  the  song  of  love 
Includes  the  depths  that  yawn  below, 

The  Heights  that  soar  above. 


[46] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


FAITH  AND  REASON 

FAITH  reached  a  height  and  sank  again 
With  clutching  hands,  with  slipping  feet, 
To  that  vast  plain  where  vulgar  men 
O'er  vulgar  things  converse,  compete. 

"  'Twas  a  delusion  and  a  dream, 
The  rocky  height,  the  eagle's  nest, 

The  prospect  over  vale  and  stream," 
Said  Faith,  her  hands  upon  her  breast. 

Then  Reason  caught  her  whisper  low, 
Looked  keenly,  and  in  answer  said, 

"  The  mountain  marks,  to  all  who  know, 
Are  on  thee  even  foot  to  head." 


[47] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


REJECTED  AND  BETRAYED 

REJECTED  and  betrayed,  my  Saviour  went 
To  Calvary  beneath  his  burden  bent 
To  perish  on  the  tree 
And  mark  the  way  for  me 
That  I  must  travel  if  I  too  would  know 
The  victory  of  love  in  final  throe. 

I  used  to  stand  beneath  the  cross  and  gaze 
Upon  his  cruel  death  with  sad  amaze  — 

Oh !  this  he  did  for  me, 

This  death  upon  the  tree ! 
And  thus  at  second  hand  I  thought  to  win 
Deliverance  from  all  the  hurt  of  sin. 

I  knew  the  while  Barabbas  went  his  way, 
The  hapless  travelers  to  rob  and  slay ; 

But  I — what  could  I  do, 

Held  by  that  awful  view  ? 
And  yet  at  times  across  my  spirit  smote 
From  coming  combat  a  terrific  note. — 
[48] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 

Rejected  and  betrayed !  O  Christ,  at  last 
I  know  the  way ;  I  see  the  lots  are  cast 

For  raiment  I  have  worn ; 

I  hear  the  hiss  of  scorn ; 
O  Christ,  at  last  to  be  indeed  like  thee 
Exalted — saved  upon  the  cursed  tree ! 


DE  PROFUNDIS 

NOT  for  release  I  pray  — 
Oh,  deepen  thou  the  pain 
Until  the  murmur  slain 
Dies  on  our  lips  away ; 

Until  the  soul  intense 
Awakes  to  meet  the  strain, 
The  soul  that  conquers  pain, 

And  smiles  at  time  and  sense. 

Not  for  release  I  call  — 
Let  us  not  writhe  in  vain, 
But  perfect  thou  the  pain, 

Lest  we  should  forfeit  all. 

[49] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


O,  THE  IMPARTIAL  CHRIST! 

OTHE  impartial  Christ ! 
»  "Who  questions  not  what  we  may  be, 
As,  groveling  in  our  misery, 
We  seek  him,  groping  to  his  feet, 
Our  refuge  and  our  sole  retreat. 
O,  the  impartial  Christ ! 

O,  the  impartial  Christ ! 
To  him  the  king  and  beggar  kneel, 
And  through  their  broken  being  feel 
The  tides  of  healing  ebb  and  flow, — 
The  touch  that  love  alone  can  know. 

O,  the  impartial  Christ ! 

O,  the  impartial  Christ ! 
Our  sin  has  made  us  in  his  sight 
All  equal  in  our  wretched  plight. 
He  lifts  us,  lo !  his  brothers  we, 
Heirs  to  his  royal  destiny. 

O,  the  impartial  Christ ! 

[50] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


COMPLICITY 

THE  garments  at  my  willing  feet, 
The  witnesses  have  laid ; 
There  falls  a  cruel  hail  of  stone 
On  Stephen  unafraid. 

The  saint  is  dead  and  none  will  say, 
"  The  man  was  slain  by  Saul," — 

But  lo  !  my  conscience  casts  me  out 
Beyond  the  city  wall. 

"What  matters  it  that  hands  refrain, 
When  hearts  have  cast  the  stone  ? 

Forgive  me,  Lord,  as  if  thy  saint 
Were  slain  by  me  alone. 


GOD  IS  GOOD 

ALMOST  I  had  forgotten 
That  God  is  very  good. 
His  punishments  are  kindness 
By  us  misunderstood. 

Each  day  I  wonder,  wonder, 
At  love  in  some  new  wise  — 

O  God,  how  shall  I  fathom 
The.  depths  of  thy  surprise  ? 


[52] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


THE  CHANGEFUL  DAYS  GO  BY 


T 


HE  changeful  days  go  by ; 
One  thing  unchanged  for  aye  — 
My  need  of  thee. 


Hushed  is  the  song  of  spring, 
The  rose  a  withered  thing, 
Stay  thou  by  me. 

The  summer  days  are  here, 
Of  golden  grain  the  fields  are  clear ; 
I  need  thee  still. 

"What  seasons  yet  are  mine, 
Thou  presence  all  divine, 
Their  voiduess  filL 


[53] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


AFTER  THE  MARTYRDOM 

I  THREW  a  stone  or  two ;  you  know 
They  all  were  throwing  stones ; 
The  air  seemed  full  of  missiles,  dust, 
Of  hisses,  shouts,  and  groans. 

My  stone — it  hardly  struck  the  wretch, 

Upon  the  edge  I  stood  ; 
In  front  were  men  of  higher  rank, 

And  rated  sane  and  good. 

Once  he  did  turn  his  bleeding  face, — 

I  feared  to  look  at  me  — 
Then  up  to  heaven  he  gazed  and  caught 

Light  from  eternity. 

That  glowing  countenance — O,  Sir, 

I  stole  abashed  away ; 
'Twas  but  a  single  stone  I  flung, 

And  yet  alack !  the  day. 


[54] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


THY  PRESENCE 

SINCE  I  at  length  have  learned  to  go 
To  sacred  courts  nor  there  require 
A  priest  whose  lips  are  touched  with  fire, 
Thy  eloquence  I  feel  and  know. 

I  seek  thy  house  to  meet  with  thee ; 
While  song  and  speech  may  prove  an  aid, — 
Who  puts  his  faith  in  them,  dismayed 

Shall  often  from  thy  presence  flee. 

But  who  find  thee  are  well  content : 
Whate'er  the  means  of  worship  lack, 
A  charm  is  there  that  draws  them  back 

Where  that  seraphic  hour  was  spent. 

Thy  presence,  Lord,  is  all  we  need, 

And  that  is  nevermore  denied ; 

"  Abide  in  me."    Yea,  we  abide, 
And  on  thy  life  unseen  we  feed. 


[55] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


WHOM  DOES  THE  GIANT  FEAR  ? 

NOW,  whom  does  the  giant  fear, 
The  giant  that  lives  on  the  edge  of  the 

wood  ? 

The  priest  or  the  clown  ? 
They  both  disappear, 
And  gulping  them  down, 
He  mutters,  "  Good !  " 
The  child  that  came  for  violets, 
He  swallows  without  regrets. 
And  the  warrior  men  honored  as  brave  — 
He  finds  in  that  maw  a  grave. 
Now,  whom  does  he  fear 
All  through  the  changing  year  ? 
Ah  !  the  scholar  and  poet,  these  twain, 
May  walk  in  the  wood  in  sun  and  rain, 
And  the  giant  will  tremble  and  hide, 
And  yield  them  the  forest  so  wide ; 
For  they  have  a  charm 
His  wrath  to  disarm. 


[56] 


IDA  AHLBOKN  WEEKS 


MY  GIFT 

TO  his  Maker's  throne 
Each  his  gift  must  bring,- 
I  have  but  a  song  to  sing. 

Gifts  of  flock  and  field, 

Toil  of  hand  and  brain, — 

I  have  but  a  simple  strain. 

What  was  given  to  me 
That  I  needs  must  bring, — 
I  have  but  a  song  to  sing. 

Yet,  O  Maker,  hark ! 

In  my  native  troll 

Are  the  echoes  of  my  soul. 


[57] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


A  TALE  FOE  THE  CRITIC 

BEFORE  we  criticise 
A  life  or  work  of  art, 
'Twere  well  if  first  we  learned 
This  ancient  tale  by  heart : — 

When  Rome  with  Persia  warred, 
('Twas  in  Galerius'  day,) 

"What  treasures  of  the  East 
The  Romans  bore  away ! 

In  Persian  tent  and  field 

The  spoils  were  strewn  around  ;- 
Of  shining  leather  lay 

A  bag  upon  the  ground ; 

A  soldier's  prize  !     'Twill  serve 
His  purpose  well,  no  doubt ; 

But  first  he  turned  the  pearls 
As  useless  pebbles  out  1 

[58] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW 

HE  wandered  east,  he  wandered  west, 
Ah,  me !  what  scenes  he  saw ! 
But  aye  he  said  in  discontent, 
"  The  picture  has  its  flaw ! " 

She  dwelt  alone  in  dismal  spot, 
Yet  said  each  morn,  "  How  fair ! 

For  her,  pure  soul,  the  thought  of  God 
Thrilled  through  the  earth  and  air. 

Aye  he  who  takes  the  form  for  soul, 

His  heart  is  ill  at  ease ; 
Who  sees  the  soul  within  the  form, 

Most  lowly  things  may  please. 


[59] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


POETIC  LICENSE 

SHE  sings  of  nightingales ; 
Yet  never  one  doth  fly 
Through  all  that  western  sky. 

She  sings  of  love  and  loss ; 
And  I  suspect  that  they 
Are  continents  away. 


A  MYSTIC  SONG 

OI  love  a  mystic  song 
,   As  a  bird  loves  the  air, 
As  a  fish  loves  the  sea, 
As  a  hound  loves  the  hare ! 

O,  I  love  a  mystic  song, 
And  I  need  no  paraphrase, 

As  the  chamois  needs  no  guide 
O'er  the  mountain  ways. 

[60] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


LIFE  FOLLOWS  SONG 

MY  heart  is  awake  and  sings 
With  the  morning  lark. 
We  have  slept  how  long !  how  long ! 
Through  the  lonely  dark. 

My  heart  is  awake  and  sings 

And  will  build  its  nest, 
And  feel  the  wonderful  life  a-thrill 

Under  the  mother-breast ; 

For  my  heart  is  awake  and  sings, — 

life  follows  after  song ! 
By  a  law  that  cannot  fail 

Through  the  ages  long. 


[61] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  PEARL  OF  SONG 

HOW  many  fathoms  deep 
Down  in  the  sea 
Must  the  diver  go 
Who  dives  for  thee  ? 

Farewell  to  sky, 

Farewell  to  shore, 
To  find  a  single  pearl 

On  ocean's  floor. 


ALL  MY  LIFE  I'VE  BEEN  A  SINGER 

ALL  my  life  I've  been  a  singer ; 
All  my  life  I've  been  a  bringer 
Of  the  vital  notes  that  cling 
To  the  soul  of  everything. 
Now  behold  me,  old  and  poor ; 
Yet  the  music  shall  endure 
Shall  draw  the  sky  to  stoop  and  fold 
Me  in  robes  of  rose  and  gold. 

[62] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


BEAUTY  IS  NEVER  AFAR 

BEAUTY  is  never  afar : 
I  went  in  the  garden ; 
I  gathered  up  my  brown-checked  gingham 

apron, 
And  plucked  from  the  rank  vines  the  glowing 

tomatoes ; 

I  paused  by  the  peach-tree 
And  added  a  few  to  my  burden. 


BEFORE  A  PAINTING 

I  THINK:  he  painted  it  for  me, 
Not  for  great  dames  who  gaze, 
Upon  the  rural  scene  and  give 
In  courtly  language  praise. 

I  think  he  painted  it  for  me 
Because  I  know  these  lowly  ways : 

The  peasant  blood  within  my  veins, 
O  Master,  speaks  thy  praise. 

[63] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


HEAKT  SICKNESS 

"T  TOW  comes  heart  sickness,  dost  thou  know  ?  " 
J-  A  Not  through  some  unexpected  blow, 
But  through  a  process  long  and  slow, 
And  lo !  the  heart  is  sick  and  sore, 
And  comfort  seems  a  vanished  lore. 

"  How  does  heart  sickness  pass  away, 
Tell  me,  O  .friend,  if  thou  canst  say  ?  " 
Through  love's  slow  healing  day  by  day, 
Through  Nature's  touch,  through  faith  in  One 
Who  watches  ftfe  through  shade  and  sun. 

"ROUGHNESS" 

O  WE'VE  bran,"  said  Mrs.  Western, 
'      "  But  a  cow  must  have  beside 
Koughness,  or  before  you  know  it, 
She'll  be  either  dead  or  dried." 

"  *  Roughness '  ?  do  they  mean  to  beat  her  ?  " 

Thought  the  gentle  Mrs.  Maine ; 
But  her  husband  laughing  told  her, 
"  Hay,  alfalfa,  millet,  cane ! " 

[64] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


A  FARTHER  EAST 


~"*HEY  scorned  him  for  his  "Western  mood, 
•*•       They  on  Atlantic's  brim, 
They  knew  not  that  a  farther  East 
Burned  in  the  soul  of  him  ; 

An  East  that  from  his  birth  he  knew- 

O,  sacred  Alps  that  rise 
Through  childhood  dream,  through  tale  and 
song 

To  cleave  the  lonely  skies  ! 

Who  through  two  hundred  years  must  grope 

To  find  the  Old  World's  heart, 
Its  garnered  sense  of  life  and  lore, 

Its  deep  impulse  of  art, 

It  ill  becomes  them  to  deride 

The  man  whose  pulses  bear 
A  music  that  has  died  away 

Upon  the  alien  air. 

[65] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


MY  MISTAKE 

I  SAW  a  coming  grief  and  cried, 
"  Not  this,  not  this,  I  pray !  " 
It  vanished,  and  a  vaster  grief 
Cast  darkness  on  my  way, 

Till  that  first  grief  became  a  light 
That  one  might  gladly  hail, 

As  after  sunset  we  rejoice 
In  even  moonlight  pale. 


PKUKING 

AYLNTER  went  in  his  vineyard 
And  clipped  the  leaves  away  ;- 
The  bashful  grapes  saluted 
The  monarch  of  the  day. 

And  the  mildew  like  a  serpent, 

It  glided  out  of  sight, 
While  purple  and  sweet  the  clusters 

Grew  in  the  summer  light. 

[66] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


LET  US  ABIDE  IN  LOVE 

LET  us  abide  in  love ! 
'Tis  our  constructive  power. 
It  builds  our  fort  and  fame, 
It  rears  our  hall  and  tower. 

Let  us  abide  in  love  ! 

The  earth  is  fresh  and  fair 
With  flower  and  with  song 

While  love  pervades  the  air. 

Let  us  abide  in  love ! 

Nor  let  the  heart  decay, 
Whatever  strength  of  life 

The  years  may  take  away. 


[67] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


PKEMONITION 

THE  robin  knows  that  spring  is  near, 
He  needs  no  chart  to  mark  the  year 
The  robin  knows. 

The  violet  feels  the  coming  spring  — 
O,  sense  profound  in  bud  and  wing ! 
The  violet  feels. 

O  human  heart,  shalt  thou  not  be 
Aware  of  coming  destiny, 

O  human  heart ! 


[68] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


LIVING  BEAUTY 

I  SAID  I  will  let  my  life  be 
As  bare  as  an  autumn  tree, 
I  will  not  endeavor 
With  fingers  clever 
To  fasten  a  leaf  here  and  there 
To  shut  out  the  sunlight  and  air. 

O,  true  is  the  earth  below, 

And  true  is  the  sky  above : 

A  tree  that  is  able  to  grow, 

And  a  soul  that  is  able  to  love, 

We  may  trust  the  long  winter  through, 

For  beauty  is  certain  as  God  is  true. 


[69] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


LOST  HARMONY  KESTORED 

ART  thou  ill  at  ease  ? 
Look  about  and  find 
Something  that  has  need 
Of  thy  heart  and  mind. 

And  that  need  performed 

Shall  thy  solace  be ; 
Surely  it  restores 

Thy  lost  harmony. 


[70] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


AT  HOME 

LOUISE  remains  at  home, 
Though  friends  and  neighbors  go 
To  see  the  wondrous  fair 
Where  all  the  World  's  on  show. 

They  tell  her  of  the  sights  — 

"  It  must  be  fine  indeed," 
She  says  and  sews  away 

As  if  for  urgent  need. 

Her  face  is  like  the  dawn, 
And  still  she  sews  and  sews 

Such  tiny  frocks  !  nor  cares 
Who  stays  at  home  or  goes. 


[71] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


MY  BRIDGE 

I  CAME  upon  the  stream  — 
Alas !  the  swollen  flood ; 
I  had  no  boat  to  cross, 
I  had  no  plank  of  wood. 

Then  blew  a  kindly  wind  — 
Across  the  stream  there  lay 

A  mighty  oak,  and  I 
Walked  o'er  without  delay. 


[72] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


WHEN  WILL  THEY  COME? 

I  WEARY  of  these  alien  ones, 
When  will  they  come,  my  own  ? 
Whom  I  shall  know  and  understand 
By  every  touch  and  tone. 

Oh,  sick  at  heart  am  I  of  these 

Who  pause  for  argument, 
Who  lack  the  common  blood  that  feels 

The  heart  of  the  intent. 

Bring  me  mine  own,  O  God  of  life, 

Call  them  to  me  from  far; 
My  spirit  woos  them  to  my  side 

From  thy  most  distant  star. 


[73] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


A  SONG  OF  EGYPT 

(Lebanon,  111.,  is  in  that  part  of  the  state  known  as  Egypt.) 

"T  Tl  7"HAR  you  done  a  libbin'  now  ?  " 

»  '     Way  down  in  Egypt ; 
Makin'  bricks  widouten  straw, 
Groanin'  under  Pharaoh's  law, 
"Way  down  in  Egypt, 
"Way  down. 

Here  I  toils  among  my  foes, 

Way  down  in  Egypt, 
Whar  de  stranger  am  deir  prey  — 
(Makes  deir  libbin'  dat-a-way,) 

Way  down  in  Egypt, 
Way  down. 

An'  I  see  de  signs  ob  hope 

Way  down  in  Egypt ! 
Hear  dat  Moses  drawin'  nigh, 
Land  ob  Canaan  by  and  by. — 

Farewell  to  Egypt, 
Farewell ! 

[74] 


IDA   AHLBORN   WEEKS 


LIGHTEN  YOUK  SHIP 

LIGHTEN  your  ship  when  Euroclydon  conies, 
Lighten  your  ship ! 

Cast  in  the  ocean  your  tackling  and  wheat, 

Fling  to  the  billows  your  vesture  and  meat. 

Lighten  your  ship  when  Euroclydon  comes, 

Lighten  your  ship ! 

Kiches  that  cost  you  the  blood  in  your  veins  — 

Forth  in  the  sea  ! 

Things  that  by  gift  and  by  usage  were  dear, 
In  the  wild  waters  they  plunge,  disappear. 
Life,  oh !  for  life  will  you  lavish  your  gains 

On  the  mad  sea. 

Lighten  your  ship  when  Euroclydon  comes, 

Lighten  your  ship ! 
Life  is  for  love,  and  the  value  of  love 
Heaven  alone  has  the  reckoning  of : 
Lighten  your  ship  when  Euroclydon  comes, 

Lighten  your  ship. 

[75] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


NOT  TWICE 

SOME  things  will  come  again  — 
The  lightning,  storm,  and  rain ; 
But  never  shall  we  know 
Again  that  depth  of  pain. 

For  you  and  I,  we  drank 

Down  to  the  dregs  the  cup  ; 
f         Not  twice  between  the  thieves 
Are  victims  offered  up. 


[76] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


LOSS  AND  GAIN 

OF  gains  that  we  applaud 
I  think  with  little  pleasure ; 
For  still  my  losses  seem 

To  me  my  chiefest  treasure ; 
For  still  through  losses  came 
The  spirit's  larger  vision  ; 
The  wavering  will  attained 
The  granite  of  decision. 

Let  prudent  merchants,  then, 

Compute  in  their  own  fashion ; 
Another  mode  prevails 

"Where  love  is  ruling  passion : 
Oh,  losses  I  have  known ! 

Oh,  losses  that  await  me  1 
These  only  shall  at  last 

In  Eden  reinstate  me. 


[77] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


CONSOLATION 

ONE  day  a  friendship  died 
No  wrong  was  done ; 
It  simply  ceased  to  be 
Beneath  the  sun. 

One  day  a  friendship  new 

To  one  was  born ; 
That  ancient  grief  became 

A  thing  outworn. 

Say  what  we  will,  the  child 

Upon  the  breast 
Consoles  us  for  the  one 

In  dreamless  rest. 


[78] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


THE  NEAREST  DUTY 

I  SAID  that  I  would  do 
The  works  of  love  alone, — 
And  in  my  breast  my  heart 
Remained  as  hard  as  stone. 

I  said,  Now  I  will  do 

Whatever  comes  to  do. 
And  lo  !  my  stony  heart 

Was  molten  through  and  through. 


[79] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


A  SONG  OF  ACADEMIC  LIBERTY 

AKISE,  who  bend  o'er  song  and  story, 
Who  search  for  truth  in  her  retreat ; 
"What  profits  all  your  learned  glory 

If  freedom  suffer  a  defeat  ? 
Arise  and  listen !    Down  the  ages 

The  shackles  on  the  thinker  ring ; 
And  what  ye  read  on  placid  pages 
"Was  once  condemned  by  priest  and  king. 

O  ye  who  guard  the  sacred  portals 

With  vigilance  of  heart  and  brain, 
Through  which  the  troop  of  the  immortals 

Comes  ever  with  their  glistening  train  — 
O  thinker,  teacher,  seer,  bestowing 

Such  guardian  service,  shall  ye  be 
The  slaves  of  tyrants  all  unknowing 

The  highest  gifts  are  from  the  free  ? 

Shall  ye  not  see  a  Hamlet's  passion 
Portrayed  upon  the  tragic  stage  ? 

Must  truth  be  right  to  you  in  fashion 
When  it  is  duly  stamped  with  age  ? 
[80] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 

Shall  ye  not  dare  condemn  the  writer 
"Who  writes  from  vanity  and  greed  ? 

And  dare  to  be  the  public  smiter 
Of  men  who  mount  by  evil  deed  ? 

Of  old  did  Galileo  mutter 

As  he  recanted,  "  Yet  it  moves  "  ? 
Ye,  too,  below  your  breath  must  utter 

What  blinded  custom  disapproves. 
O  ye,  for  truth  who  groan  and  travail, 

Shall  ye  be  driven  to  obey 
The  barren  slaves  who  basely  cavil 

At  life  and  life's  imperious  way  ? 

For  you  no  sword  that  cleaves  asunder, 

And  not  for  you  the  piercing  ball ; 
But  eloquence  has  still  her  thunder, — 

The  people  are  the  open  hall. 
The  law  that  underlies  our  nation 

Is  still  to  tyranny  a  foe ; 
And  to  your  help  comes  all  creation 

When  once  ye  are  in  freedom's  throe. 


[81] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


"NO  KOOM  IN  THE  INN" 

"The  Navarre  has  every  modern  convenience.     No 
children. " — Newspaper  Advertisement. 

"  "\7"OU  saw  the  pair  at  the  door 

-»-       That  to-night  I  turned  away  ?  " 
The  landlord  asked  his  wife 
In  Herod's  regal  day. 

"  I  saw  the  pair  indeed, 

And  right  were  you  to  deny ; 
For  an  inn  is  never  a  place 
"Where  one  should  be  born  or  die ! " 

"  So  I  thought,"  he  made  response ; 
"  The  stable  is  open  for  them." 
And  there  ere  the  dawn  was  born 
The  Babe  of  Bethlehem. 


[82] 


IDA  AHLBOKN   WEEKS 


A  CHRISTMAS  RONDEL 

REJOICE !  the  Christ  is  born ! 
"  Ah !  in  a  time  afar, 

Beneath  a  Roman  czar, 
To  grieve  and  mourn  forlorn ; 
For  him  the  scourge  and  thorn, 

The  shame  at  Pilate's  bar  — " 
Rejoice !  the  Christ  is  born, 

Of  love  the  avatar ! 
What  power  has  Herod's  scorn 

Or  Peter's  lie  to  mar 

The  bright  and  morning  star ! 
Rejoice !  the  Christ  is  born 
To  thee  this  winter  morn. 


[83] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  CRAFTY  VIOLINIST 

(This  story  ia  told  of  Ole  Bull  and  Erickson.) 

THEY  played  as  lads  together, 
But  drifted  far  apart ; 
And  each  became  a  master 
In  Science  and  in  Art. 

A  prince  among  inventors 

The  older  one  became ; 
In  music  won  the  younger 

A  far-resounding  name. 

And  after  years  of  parting 
Their  pathways  crossed  again. 

How  strong  and  deep  the  friendship 
Of  two  victorious  men ! 

And  often  to  his  concerts 

The  wizard  of  the  bow 
Implored  his  friend's  attendance, 

"Who  ever  answered,  "  No !  " 
[84] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 

Because  no  taste  for  music 
Was  in  his  nature  born, 

And  time  in  vain  amusement 
For  him  were  time  forlorn. 

Not  thus  the  sweet  musician 
Was  baffled  by  the  plea : 

His  violin  for  mending 
He  sent  in  craftily. 

Then  to  a  skilful  workman 
His  friend  the  task  assigned, 

Nor  dreamed  a  wily  purpose 
Was  in  the  player's  mind. 

He  came  himself,  the  master, 
His  bow  beneath  his  arm ; 

He  chatted  while  he  tested 
If  well  repaired  the  harm. 

He  drew,  as  half  unconscious, 
Across  the  strings  the  bow, 

Nor  heeded  how  the  workmen 
Stood  in  a  gaping  row. 
[85] 


THE  POEMS  OF 

Then,  as  if  he  remembered, 
He  checked  himself  and  prayed 

A  pardon  for  his  "  fiddling  " 
In  which  by  use  betrayed. 

"  Play  on ! "  his  friend  insisted  ; 
"  I  knew  not  what  I  said 
When  to  the  touch  of  music 
I  vowed  my  soul  was  dead ! " 

"  "Who  were  the  pair  ?  "  you  question ; 

You  know  them  long  and  well, 
But  that  you  may  remember, 
Their  names  I  gladly  tell : 

John  Erickson,  the  builder 

Who  made  the  Monitor, 
And  Ole  Bull,  the  player 

Of  many  a  witching  score. 


[86] 


IDA   AHLBORN    WEEKS 


BURNS 

O  BURNS,  sweet  bard  of  love ! 
Let  them  who  love  resort  to  thee, 
As  to  the  linden  flies  the  bee. 

O  Burns,  sweet  bard  of  love ! 
Who  lack  in  love  have  need  of  thee, 
As  of  the  linden  has  the  bee. 

O  Burns,  sweet  bard  of  love ! 
Thou  linden  lane  of  poesy ; 
The  human  heart,  the  hungry  bee. 


[87] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


EUGENE  FIELD 

WHO  of  Krinken  sang  the  song, 
Sun-child  that  the  ocean  long 
Wooed,  and  won  to  his  embrace, 
And  the  summer  of  his  face 
Made  a  summer  in  the  sea, 
Where  with  maiden  Nis  went  he  — 
Ah !  the  singer  in  the  deep 
Sank  away  in  sleep. 

Sun-child  must  a  singer  be : 
Warmer  is  the  hoary  sea  — 
Warmer  for  that  golden  ray 
Is  the  ocean's  heart  for  aye ; 
And  upon  the  lonely  shore 
Winter  reigns  f orevennore. 


[88] 


IDA   AHLBORN   WEEKS 


ENDUKE 

ENDUKE !  endure !  a  little  while 
May  bring  the  issue  fair  and  great. 
Let  no  impatience  thee  beguile 
Of  that  for  which  thy  soul  doth  wait. 

Endure !  endure !  nor  fail  to  strive. 

Above  thee  bend  the  powers  unseen 
To  keep  thy  courage  still  alive, 

To  fight  thy  breathing  spells  between. 


[89] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


READJUSTMENT 

LET  it  not  grieve  thee  when  the  throng 
With  which  thou  hast  companioned  long 
Falls  from  thee  in  a  sudden  way, 
As  leaves  drop  from  the  autumn  spray ; 

It  means  another  throng  must  come  — 
Hark !  to  the  far  recruiting  drum ! 
New  comrades  call  to  noble  fight, 
To  larger  conquests  for  the  right. 

Respond !  respond !  and  from  the  mind 
Expel  all  wrong,  all  thoughts  unkind ; 
Join  with  the  host  that  brings  to  thee 
New  life,  new  faith,  new  liberty. 


[90] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


Sonnets 


TO-MORROW 

TO-MORROW  I  will  do  just  thus  and  so, 
And  lose  this  haunting  sense  of  misery." 
The  morrow  came,  and  I  was  glad  and  free, 
And  all  the  tasks  that  I  had  set  in  row, 
All  of  a  sudden  I  did  let  them  go, 
And  bade  the  living  day  to  govern  me. 
What  wonders  new !  what  strange  placidity ! 
A  world  so  near  me  that  I  did  not  know ! 

O,  artificial  life,  hard  evermore, 
Depart  and  let  spontaneous  force  arise, 
A  force  that  has  a  law  beyond  our  eyes, 

Untainted  by  the  human  grind  and  greed. 
To  that  I  yield,  and  ever  new  the  shore, 

A  rapture  every  note — a  flower  each  weed. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


SUNSETS 

I  MARKED  the  sunsets  all  the  summer  through, 
And  in  their  flames  of  glory  bathed  my  soul, 
As  bathes  the  flower  itself  at  night  in  dew, 
At  morn  with  fragrance  sweeter  to  unroll. 
Responsive  to  the  sunset's  splendor,  I, 
Who  in  that  vision  asked  for  nothing  more, 
Dreamed  not  that  gracious  nature,  standing  by, 
A  human  gift  reserved  for  me  in  store, 

That,  when  my  soul  was  level  to  its  height, 
She  would  reveal,  and,  smiling  down  on  me, 
Entreat  me  to  accept  the  greater  boon, 

As  one  who,  faithful  to  the  dying  light, 
Is  worthy  of  the  dawn  eye  cannot  see, 
A  light  beyond  the  sun  and  stars  and  moon. 


[92] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


AT  WORSHIP 

OF  late  I  listen  to  the  sacred  word 
With  all  my  soul  awake,  alert  that  I 
May  lose  no  syllable.     But  half  I  heard 
The  message  in  the  careless  days  gone  by ; 
But  now  so  earnest  has  my  life  become, 
So  frail  am  I  to  meet  the  combat  stern, 
I  can  but  sit  in  expectation  dumb 
That  from  God's  manual  some  hint  I  learn 

To  lead  me  safely  on.     O  word  of  truth, 
Unfold  thy  mystery  to  my  delight, 
Be  of  the  larger  life  perpetual  sooth ; 

So  shall  I  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight, 
And  in  serenity  reproach  endure, 
Since  in  eternal  praise  I  rest  secure. 


[93] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THY  WILL  BE  DONE 

THY  will  be  done.     I  choose  it  joyously, 
Not  as  a  slave  that  must.    What  seemeth 

good 

To  me,  perhaps  is  ill,  misunderstood. 
Thou  only  knowest  what  develops  me 
Like  yonder  heavenward-striving  tree : 
It  utilizes  its  environment ; 
Its  mighty  roots  are  darkly  downward  sent, 
Its  top  to  all  the  sun's  influence  free. 

Thy  will  be  done !    I,  too,  will  drink  the  cup, 
E'en  though  in  pain  I  pray  that  it  may  pass ; 
For  still  the  heartless  priest  and  jeering  mass 

Through  sacrifice  are  moved  and  lifted  up ; 
And  whoso  grips  some  truth,  with  it  achieves 
The  courage  to  maintain,  to  die  with  thieves. 


[94] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


INTERPRETATION 

OLOVE,  thou  hast  interpreted  to  me 
The  poets  whom  I  read  for  many  years, 
And  to  whose  songs  I  gave  both  smiles  and  tears ; 
I  seemed  a  child  that  looks  upon  the  sea 
Responding  half  in  wonder,  half  in  glee ; 
But  now  the  verse — its  inner  sense  appears, 
The  soul  that  all  the  body  fair  endears, 
And  binds  me  to  perpetual  fealty. 

O  love,  I  knew  thy  treasures  were  supreme, 
But  this  is  wondrous  that  the  key  to  art 
Fits  in  the  casket  of  the  human  heart ; 

That  feeling  is  the  central  force  and  fire, 
The  fact,  while  all  else  is  a  shadowy  dream, 
A  mist  that  mounts  in  sunlight  to  expire. 


[95] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


LOVE'S  VICTORY 

WHEN  Portia  won  the  trial  in  the  court, 
Then  love  was  victor  over  selfish  gain 
For  him  the  argosies  traverse  the  main 
To  gather  wealth  from  many  an  alien  port ; 
For  him  on  the  Bialto  men  consort 
In  eager  competition  to  obtain 
The  ducats  for  his  need — all  traffic's  pain 
Is  but  to  furnish  love  in  proper  sort. 

O  love,  for  thee  we  toil,  for  thee  we  die ; 
Thy  smile,  however  late,  is  recompense 
For  every  labor,  every  hazard  run ; 

To  perish  in  the  life-sustaining  sun 

Is  better  than  in  darkness  long  and  dense, 
Amid  the  pale  and  timid  hosts  to  lie. 


[96] 


IDA   AHLBOKN   WEEKS 


O,  KADIANT  LIGHT  OF  LOVE ! 

I  SOUGHT  no  counsel  from  the  sons  of  men, 
But  silently  the  struggle  ran  its  course : 
I  sank  to  deeps  beneath  despair,  remorse, 
To  rise  and  sink  again  and  yet  again ; 
The  world  that  men  esteem  so  fair  and  good, 
Of  all  the  joys  of  sense  the  ample  source, 
Was  burnt  to  ashes  in  the  flaming  force 
To  which  my  life  became  as  resinous  wood. 

But  from  the  deeps  I  rose,  from  ashes  gray 
I  sprang,  no  more  to  wave  and  flame  a  prey : 
The  counsel  from  within  and  from  above 

Has  led  to  thee,  O,  radiant  light  of  love, 
And  now,  responsive  to  the  wooing  day, 
Behold  the  life  I  almost  doubted  of. 


[97] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


PERSONALITY 

LOVE  comes  and  leaves  us  nevermore  the  same ; 
It  is  the  chisel's  blow  that  sets  us  free  — 
The  statue  of  our  personality 
Behold !    The  wall  of  public  praise  and  blame 
Is  left  behind  as  if  an  empty  frame : 
We  stand  alone,  enabled  now  to  see 
That  love  achieves  this  silent  victory 
For  all  who  love  in  deed  as  well  as  name. 

Distinct  and  clear  and  free  at  last  from  all 
The  semblance  of  support,  the  life  acquires 
The  sense  of  earth  down  to  her  inward  fires, 

The  sense  of  heaven  beyond  the  summit  tall  — 
The  vision  that  surmounts  the  final  wall 
Where  soul  to  soul  responds  in  pure  desires. 


[98] 


IDA  AHLBOJRN   WEEKS 


WITHOUT  HASTE 

THERE  is  no  haste  in  love :  it  has  all  time, 
And  speed  that  mocks  the  swiftness  of  the 

light; 

No  loss  it  knows,  nor  need  to  expedite 
Its  message ;  and,  secure  in  faith  sublime, 
It  spreads  no  net,  it  strows  no  snaring  lime. 
What  need  has  it  for  wiles  that  to  the  night 
Belong  ?    It  is  the  sum  of  human  right, 
And  unassailable  as  in  its  prime. 

i 
O  heart  impatient,  fearful  lest  delay 

May  hazard  that  which  is  of  dateless  years, 
Let  love  but  have  an  undisputed  sway ; 
There  is  more  wisdom  in  its  silent  tears, 
Than  in  all  maxims  that  the  traitor  fears 
Have  whispered  to  thy  pain  the  livelong  day. 


[99] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


IN  THE  FOKEST 

TO  breathe  into  these  lines  the  spirit  calm 
That  rests  upon  this  forest  dense  and  old, 
Were  fit  return  for  all  the  healing  balm 
That  here  I  found  without  the  cost  of  gold ; 
For  I,  a  creature  worn  with  many  a  toil, 
And  sick  at  heart  with  doubtings  manifold, 
I  wandered  here,  I  blent  into  the  wold, 
And  like  a  tree  drew  vigor  from  the  soil. 

O  forest,  fare  thee  well !    Again  I  turn 
To  human  scenes  ;  and  yet  between  us  twain 
A  bond  exists :  the  memory  of  me 

Is  thy  possession,  wrought  into  thy  grain ; 
And  I,  how  oft  when  city  pavements  burn, 
Shall  feel  the  shade,  the  atmosphere  of  thee ! 


[100] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


IN  OPEN  AIR 

"Flieh' !  Auf  !  Hinaus  in's  weite  Land  !  "—Goetht. 

IN  open  air,  there  am  I  brave  and  free, 
And  liefest  there  would  I  await,  receive 
A  message  weird  and  wondrous  to  believe : 
As  to  that  English  king,  it  seems  to  me, 
Less  danger  comes  to  men  from  sorcery 
In  open  field  than  palaces  inside, — 
Let  Augustine,  the  royal  hall  denied, 
On  Thanet's  isle  expound  his  mystery. 

In  open  air  my  spirit  urges,  Go ! 

The  earth,  if  green  or  brown,  will  banish  care ; 

The  spell  that  narrow  walls  about  me  wove, 
The  winds  afar  in  mockery  will  blow, 

While  I,  serenely  glad  and  unaware, 

Imbibe  the  strength  for  which  I  vainly  strove. 


[101] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  POET  TO  THE  EEADER 

i 

I  SEEK  for  thee :  there  are  no  deeps,  no  heights 
I  would  not  cross  for  thee  to  whom  my  song 
Is  life  and  power.    When  thy  emotions  throng 
From  inner  fountains  that  the  worldling  slights, 
Then,  if  a  note  of  mine  should  make  thee  strong 
To  vindicate  thy  bosom's  sacred  rights  — 
Ah  !  that  were  joy  to  match  the  high  delights 
That  thrill  the  singer  in  the  hour  of  song. 

There  is  no  melody  that  can  endure 
Except  it  save  a  soul.     To  win  reward 
So  great  is  worth  all  agony,  all  scorn ; 

To  fail  thereof — far  better  never  born 
"Were  that  vain  wretch  whom  jingling  words 

allure 
To  sell,  Iscariot-like  his  Christ  and  Lord. 


[102] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


THE  HEADER  TO  THE  POET 

ii 

MY  soul  O  poet,  goes  in  search  of  thee 
Who  comest  unto  me  with  message  high ; 
Fear  not  the  world's  neglect,  I  shall  not  die 
Till  thou  hast  sung  thy  secret  into  me  : 
Two  souls  that  seek  each  other  earnestly 
May  all  the  jeering,  flippant  world  defy ; 
For  on  such  search  the  deep  foundations  lie 
Of  all  that  rises  into  victory. 

Sing  on !  While  air  is  here  to  bear  away 
Thy  notes,  the  ample  argument  of  song 
Is  thine.  The  strains  that  to  thyself  belong 

I  shall  in  season  hear,  since  I  obey 
Emotion's  law,  from  which  all  songs  arise 
As  vapors  mounting  to  the  summer  skies. 


[103] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  SONNET 

THE  heart  of  Bruce,  the  noble  Douglas  bore 
In  combat  with  the  Saracenic  foe  ; 
He  flung  the  precious  casket  far  before 
And  wrought  the  Moslem  rout  and  overthrow 
For  still  the  heart  of  Bruce,  renowned  of  yore, 
Its  ancient  valor  kept  and  fiery  glow, 
And  where  it  fell  amid  the  combat's  roar, 
There  lay  the  Moors  in  mortal  anguish  low. 

And  thou,  O  sonnet,  art  the  golden  vase, 
In  which  full  many  a  poet  locks  his  heart, 
The  heart  that  in  the  battle's  fiercest  place 

Achieves  a  victory  beyond  all  art ; 

For  still  the  heart  retains  its  primal  might 
To  put  the  foes  of  love  and  song  to  flight. 


[104] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


EENTJKCIATION 

WHEN"  ruin  seemed  to  close  my  life  around 
In  waves  of  wild  and  overwhelming  might, 
There  came  a  rock,  a  beckoning  rock,  in  sight ; 
It  rose  from  deeps  serene  because  profound ; 
My  drowning  soul  beheld  it  with  delight ; 

"Saved!   saved!"   I  cried.     Against  that  lofty 

rock 

The  waves  may  beat,  they  cannot  merge  or  shock, 
There  shalt  thou  find,  O  soul  of  mine,  respite. 

And  on  that  rescue-rock  did  I  remain 
Until  my  soul  did  larger  rescue  know : 
No  more  a  victim  to  the  selfish  floods, 

I  walk  the  garden  where  the  lilies  blow, 
I  feel  the  life  within  the  growing  buds, 
And  hear  the  bluebird  warbling  down  the  lane. 


[105] 


THE   POEMS  OF 


PROGRESS 

LONG  years  men  trafficked  on  an  ancient  deep  : 
Here  sailed  their  vessels  rich  in  spice  and  ore, 
In  gleaming  gems  and  silks  that  monarchs  wore  ; 
From  Araby,  from  Egypt,  India,  did  they  reap 
The  harvests  of  the  mountain,  plain,  and  vale, 
The  myrrh  and  corn,  the  figs  and  rice  and  wine, 
While  hidden  lay  the  vast  Pacific  brine, 
Unploughed  by  keel  and  unadorned  by  sail. 

Oh !  slowly  do  we  come  to  know  the  globe  — 
To-day  through  Panama  we  dig  our  way ; 
O'er  mind  and  matter  is  our  boasted  sway 

Imperfect  still,  a  pauper's  dingy  robe  — 
When  shall  we  don  the  purple  of  a  king, 
And  know  to  live,  and,  living,  know  to  sing. 


[106] 


IDA   AHLBORN   WEEKS 


VINDICATION 

THY  cause  is  just  ?    Fear  no  detraction  then ; 
Though  thou  art  stung  to  pain  by  cruel  speech, 
By  scoff,  by  silence  of  the  better  men ; 
Be  thou  unmoved,  since  time  is  apt  to  teach 
The  meaning  of  thine  act,  and  vindicate 
Thy  justly  chosen  course.     Malicious  lies, 
Insinuations — all  the  brood  of  hate, 
Time  can  remove,  whatever  their  disguise. 

For  righteousness  is  at  the  heart  of  all, 

And  of  its  triumph  cannot  fail.     Who  keeps 
This  faith  speeds  not  upon  detraction's  call 

To  his  defense ;  but  more  his  being  steeps 
In  truth ;  for,  in  due  season,  at  a  bar 
All  men  appear,  not  what  they  seem,  but  are. 


[107] 


WAITING 

I  WAIT :  there  comes  a  time  when  naught  remains 
But  to  endure  and  wait ;  and,  in  that  pause, 
That  enforced  idleness,  the  hidden  cause 
Of  much  illuding  all  my  toil  and  pains 
Is  manifest.     The  force  that  silent  reigns 
Grows  audible,  the  while  the  loud  applause 
That  seemingly  enacts,  repeals  the  laws, 
Is  caught  and  lost  in  far  and  high  refrains. 

My  life  ascends  to  perfect  harmony : 

I  am  no  more  an  isolated  note,  but  part 

Of  a  triumphant  song,  a  rhapsody 
That  rises  from  all  nature,  through  all  man, 

The  fabric  of  a  great  musician's  art, 

Conceived  in  sacrifice  Promethean. 


[108] 


IDA   AHLBORN   WEEKS 


Juvenile  Verse 


"ME.  TEN  MINUTES" 

THERE  once  was  a  prince,  and  he  always  would 
pray 

For  ten  minutes  more ; 
Whenever  too  sleepy  a  word  e'en  to  say, 
He  would  hold  up  his  hands  in  a  comical  way : 
So  "  Mr.  Ten  Minutes,"  the  name  that  he  bore. 

The  prince  grew  a  man  and  a  warrior  bold 

In  African  clime ; 
But  he  tarried  ten  minutes! — His  comrades  have 

told 
How  the  Zulus  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the 

fold:— 
Life,  honor,  and  all  for  ten  minutes  of  time. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


WHEN  BABY  LEAKNED  TO  WALK 

WHEN  Baby  learned  to  walk 
He  went  along  the  wall, 
By  tables  and  by  chairs, 
Afraid  to  get  a  fall. 

I  almost  thought  that  he 
Might  have  a  coward  heart, 

And  always  with  the  boys 
I'd  have  to  take  his  part. 

One  afternoon  when  we 
Were  in  the  room  alone, 

He  stepped  out  from  that  wall, 
His  eyes  like  diamonds  shone, 

And  he  could  walk  for  good ! 

I  tell  you  he's  the  kind ; 
He  waits,  but  just  look  out 

When  he's  made  up  his  mind. 

[no] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


THE  CKADLE  SONG 

MY  mother  sings  a  cradle  song ; 
I  see  no  reason  why  ! 
For  I  am  going  now  on  five, 
And  maybe  three  feet  high ! 

So  soft  and  sleepy  is  the  song 

I  almost  close  my  eyes ; 
It  seems  to  me  it  must  be  made 

Of  all  the  lullabies. 


[in] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  ENSIGN-BEAKER  OF  FONTENOY 

HAVE  you  heard  of  this  valiant  youth, 
Cassibianca's  mate  ? 
He  trumpets  to  all  the  truth  — 
"  Stand,  whatever  your  fate." 

A  line  of  his  regiment  fell, 

And  he  on  his  horse  alone, 
Erect  and  immovable 

As  a  statue  carved  of  stone ! 

Not  to  flinch  and  still  to  hold 

His  standard  up  was  all 
That  the  ensign  had  been  told, 

And  all  that  he  could  recall. 

A  dash,  and  his  friends  appear 
And  wrapping  him  in  his  flag 

To  the  king  with  many  a  cheer 
And  many  a  word  of  brag ! 

"  Lieutenant,"  upon  the  spot 
But  that's  nor  here  nor  there ; 

To  stand  in  one's  appointed  lot 
Is  a  fact  for  everywhere. 

[112] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


MYRTLE'S  SONG 

;  T  TP  and  up  the  marble  steps ! " 
^-'      Little  Myrtle  sings ; 
Song,  you  know,  has  power  to  lend 
To  a  climber  wings. 

And  the  "  marble  steps  "  ? — a  hill 
White  with  lime  and  clay, 

That  the  little  maiden  climbs 
On  her  schoolward  way  ! 

Once  she  heard  a  fairy-tale, — 
Marble  steps  that  shone ; 

Fairy  she  herself  to  change 
Common  mire  and  stone 

Into  marble,  and  forget 

As  she  skips  along, 
All  the  steepness  of  the  hill 

In  her  fairy  song. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


A  BUSY  SATUKDAY 

ONE  Saturday  when  Alice 
Was  at  our  house  to  play, 
It  seemed  that  every  person 
Thought  we  were  in  the  way. 

"We  went  out  in  the  kitchen, 
And  begged  to  bake  a  cake ; 

But  cook  said,  "  I'm  too  busy, 
Go  'way  for  goodness  sake ! " 

We  asked  our  Aunt  Eugenia 

To  tell  a  fairy-tale. — 
"  I'm  sorry,  but  my  letters 

Must  go  by  early  mail." 

Now,  surely  Sister  Mabel 
Will  play  a  merry  tune ; 

She  crocheted  on  and  answered, 
"  Some  other  afternoon." 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 

We  tried  to  make  a  seesaw 
Beneath  the  maple-tree ; 

But  Grandpa  said  right  sharply, 
"  Just  let  my  lumber  be  ! " 

In  Mother's  room  with  dollies 
We  settled  down  to  play  ; 

For  there  we  found  a  welcome 
That  busy  Saturday. 


PRIMROSE  HILL 

ON  Primrose  Hill  there  is  a  store, 
And  there  I  bought  to-day 
A  handsome  carpet  (made  of  moss) 
And  gave  a  leaf  for  pay. 

On  Primrose  Hill  the  store  belongs 
To  Alice,  John,  and  Clair ; 

Such  bargains  I  have  never  known 
At  Field's  or  anywhere ! 


THE  POEMS  OF 


SUDDEN  HEALING 

WITH  solemn  sigh  a  little  maid 
Sat  by  her  dolly's  bed : 
"  She's  very  sick ;  I'm  'fraid  she  has 
New  money  in  her  head. 

"  Her  mother's  sick  besides,"  she  said, 
And  heaved  a  deeper  sigh : 

"  It's  information  of  the  heart, 
And  often  people  die." 

Just  then  the  doctor  came  with  pills,- 
He  looked  like  brother  Hugh  — 

And  doll  and  mother  in  a  flash 
"Were  just  as  good  as  new. 


[116] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


THE  DEAREST  OF  ALL 

THERE  was  a  rag  doll ; 
It  was  clumsy  and  big, 
No  eyes  to  see  with, 
Nor  a  hair  of  a  wig. 

But  the  dearest  of  all 

May's  children  five 
Was  the  doll  that  came  out 

Of  each  trouble  alive. 

So,  whatever  you  get 

In  China  or  France 
To  open  its  eyes, 

To  cry  and  to  dance, 

Just  add  a  rag  doll 
To  stand  all  the  strain 

Of  play  and  parade, 
Of  sunshine  and  rain. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


THE  THUNDER  SIDE 

A     LITTLE  boy  and  girl 
-tJL     One  day  together  sat, 
And  from  the  window  watched 

The  storm  they  wondered  at. 

Estella  next  the  pane, 

In  sudden  terror  cried, 
"Whereon  upspake  Eugene, 
"  I'll  take  the  thunder  side. 


"IN  THE  CUSHION" 

THERE'S  a  little  girl  who  sews. 
"When  she  makes  her  dolly's  clothes, 
Then  the  needles  disappear 
From  the  cushion  by  the  row ; 
Yet  if  questioned,  "  Where,  my  dear, 
Are  the  needles  ?  "  she  replies, 
"  In  the  cushion ! "  and  I  fear 
That  some  needles  without  eyes, 
But  with  heads  to  make  them  wise, 
"Will  her  ladyship  surprise. 
[118] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


"OVEK  ONE  AND  UNDER  TWO" 

one  and  under  two" 
Is  the  braider's  law ; 
Thus  she  makes  a  shining  band 
Of  the  golden  straw. 

"  Over  one  and  under  two," 

On  the  left,  the  right ; 
Seven  strands  are  in  the  braid, 
Seven  hues,  in  the  light. 

"  Over  one  and  under  two," 

Dampen,  press,  and  sew : 
There's  a  hat  to  shield  the  curls 
And  the  face  below. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


A  WONDERFUL  BASKET 

NOT  of  willow,  not  of  straw, 
Was  the  basket  that  I  made ; 
Do  you  think  you  ever  saw 
Such  an  easy,  pretty  braid  ? 

"  Splints  of  hickory  ?  "— O  no ! 

Neither  "  rushes,"  neither  "  cane  " ; 
Burs  together,  row  on  row, 

From  the  bur-dock  in  the  lane. 

Then  I  set  it  on  my  head, 

As  I  saw  old  Dinah  do ; — 
And  I  wished  that  I  was  dead 

'Fore  the  combing  half  was  through. 


[120] 


IDA   AHLBOEN   WEEKS 


THE  INNKEEPER'S  DAUGHTER 

MY  own  dear  father  keeps  the  inn 
In  the  town  of  Bethlehem ; 
And  pious  guests  are  often  there, 
Who  seek  Jerusalem. 

And  once  at  evening  came  a  pair  — 
"  No  room,"  my  father  said, 
Although  I  whispered  very  low, 
"  111  spare  my  little  bed." 

My  mother  died  when  I  was  born ; 
I  saw  her  in  the  eyes 
Of  Mary  as  she  stroked 
My  hair  in  mother- wise. 

And  all  that  night  I  dreamed  and  dreamed 
Of  a  garden  large  and  fair 
Where  children  played,  and  mothers  sat 
With  roses  in  their  hair. 

[121] 


THE  POEMS  OF 

I  hurried  out  to  feed  my  lamb 
When  it  was  hardly  day ; — 
And  in  our  manger,  O  how  sweet ! 
A  little  baby  lay. 

And  men  were  there  who  looked  as  wise 
As  readers  of  the  law ; 
But  just  the  mother  and  the  child 
Were  all  I  really  saw. 

My  own  dear  father  keeps  the  inn 

In  the  town  of  Bethlehem ; 

And  guests — but  none  like  these — still  come, 

Who  seek  Jerusalem. 


[122] 


IDA  AHLBORN   WEEKS 


WHERE  DOES  THE  ICE  GO  ? 

WHERE  does  the  ice  go  to  ? 
The  baby  wished  to  know. 
"  It  melts,"  says  Aunt  Lenore. 
But  still,  "  Were  do  it  go  ?  " 

"  See,  yonder  is  the  sun, 
And  when  his  eye  so  bright 

Looks  on  the  ice,  it  runs 
To  hide  away  from  sight." 

The  baby  laughs  in  glee, 
Looks  at  the  shining  sun, 

Then  at  the  ice  and  says, 
"  Oo  better  'gin  to  yun  1 " 


THE  POEMS  OF 


SLEEP,  MY  BABY,  SLEEP 

SLEEP,  my  baby,  sleep. 
The  wind  blows  from  the  South 
On  baby's  hair  and  mouth ; 
Its  breath  is  soft  and  cool ; 
It  sings  of  rest  and  sleep, 
Of  mosses  rich  and  deep 
Beside  a  forest  pool. 
Sleep,  my  baby,  sleep. 

Sleep,  my  baby,  sleep. 
Across  the  golden  wheat 
The  wind  blows  low  and  sweet ; 

It  sings  a  pleasant  song, 
It  tells  of  happy  feasts 
For  man  and  bird  and  beasts 

All  the  snowy  winter  long. 

Sleep,  my  baby,  sleep. 


[124] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


SLUMBEK  SONG 

TO  Bylo  land, 
My  baby,  go ! 
There  children  stand 
Hand  in  hand 

And  row  on  row 
In  the  happy  Bylo  land. 

Hush,  my  baby,  go. 

There  the  little  Esquimau 

From  his  home  in  the  snow 
Meets  the  little  maid 
From  the  palmy  shade. 

Hush,  my  baby,  go. 

Mates  from  every  clime, 
Waiting  for  your  sleepy  time  - 
"  Come,  O  come,"  they  say, 
"  Come  with  us  and  play 
In  the  happy  Bylo  land, 
Where  the  children  stand 
Hand  in  hand 

And  row  on  row." 

Hush,  my  baby,  go. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


A  MAN  OF  MANY  CLIMES 

ONCE  a  man  roved  to  and  fro, 
Wheresoe'er  a  man  can  go, 
And  to  places  you  and  I 
"Would  be  sure  to  hurry  by. 
Steam  had  borne  him  rapidly 
Over  land  and  over  sea ; 
And  he  caught — just  think  of  it ! 
Even  lightning  by  the  bit, 
And  he  drove  that  flashing  steed 
Till  one  trembled  at  the  speed. 
Oft  he  rode  an  elephant, 
Or  a  camel  in  Levant ; 
And  Arabian  horses  ran 
Fast  from  Jof  to  Ispahan. 
Zebus  drove  him  slowly  on 
Through  the  groves  of  cinnamon. 
A  jinrikishaw  he  hired, 
And  he  said  he  never  tired 
Of  the  easy  gait  of  man 
In  the  Island  of  Japan. 
[126] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 

Dogs  did  draw  him  o'er  the  snow, 

Driven  by  the  Esquimau. 

Why,  this  man  of  many  lands, 

Every  tongue  he  understands, 

So  at  once  he's  shaking  hands, 

With  a  Moslem  or  a  Jew, 

With  a  Frenchman  or  a  Sioux, 

And  he  grows  so  intimate  — 

More  than  I  would  like  to  state. 

"  What's  the  traveler's  name  ?  "  you  say. 

Well,  I  learned  it  with  dismay 

When  I  wandered  far  from  home 

Through  the  ancient  streets  of  Home  — 

When  I  read  on  his  valise 

That  he  carries  every  trip  — 

"  Property  of  Sir  La  Grippe." 

"  Sir  La  Grippe,"  he  coolly  said, 

And  I  took  at  once  to  bed. 


[127] 


THE  POEMS  OF 


Quatrains 


TIME  ENOUGH 

SAY  not,  "  The  time  is  all  too  brief !  "- 
Eternity  is  thine ; 
Upon  that  trellis,  leaf  by  leaf, 
Ascends  the  human  vine. 

THE  CKITIO 

'THHE  walls  about  his  life, 

JL      They  fell  in  crumbled  heaps ; 
Now  he  has  stones  to  throw 
At  every  one  who  peeps. 


PEIMAL  NECESSITY 

A  LITTLE  tune  to  be  alone 
For  quiet  talk  with  God, 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 

STRENUOUS  LIFE 

YOUR  strenuous  life  no  more  can  please 
My  soul  is  weary  of  the  phrase ; 
I  have  great  need  of  rest  and  ease, 
Of  peace  beyond  the  blame  and  praise. 

SUDDEN  DEATH 

IT  fell  like  lightning  from  the  skies ; 
We  huddled  in  a  helpless  heap, 
Like  shivering,  storm-bewildered  sheep  - 
O  Death,  how  awful  thy  surprise ! 

A  HOUSEHOLD  PICTURE 

A     MOTHER  going  to  and  fro, 
•**-  A  fire  in  cheerful  glow ; 
A  simple  table  spread, 
A  baby  cooing  in  its  bed. 

AT  DAWN 

TO  stand  at  dawn 
And  hear  the  sable  curtains  drawn, 

While  glory  comes  in  view 
Across  the  east  and  shimmers  in  its  dew ! 
[129] 


THE  POEMS  OF 

PURSUIT 

YOU  wronged  a  man,  and  far  away 
You  went,  to  see  him  nevermore ! 
You  lived  serene  until  the  day 
His  friend  stood  knocking  at  your  door. 

PRIMROSES 

SWEET  primroses  at  fall  of  dew, 
A  silent  strain 
Of  odor,  form,  and  hue 
That  haunts  the  bluff  and  plain. 

ELECTION  DAY 

WE  drive !    Come  Jeanne  and  little  Rus ; 
Let  men  uphold  the  state ; 
We  drive  and  let  them  fume  and  fuss, 
Those  masters  of  our  fate. 

"THE  REAL  THING" 

I  WOULD  not  paint  a  happiness 
I  have  not  known ; 
Nor  hew  in  marble  a  distress 
That's  not  mine  own. 
[  130] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 

DESEKT  DWELLERS 

I  STRAYED  into  a  desert  place  — 
Oh !  what  a  group  was  there : 
A  lion  of  majestic  grace, 
A  viper  and  a  hare. 

A  NATURE  FAKER 

HE  sat  from  Nature's  life  afar, 
Applauding  her  from  rose  to  star ; 
The  people,  too,  remote  as  he, 
Applauded  his  tomfoolery. 

ANTICIPATION 

FOREVERMORE  my  thoughts  go  on 
Beyond  the  present  darkened  way, 
To  tread  the  summits  of  the  dawn 
Where  night  in  splendor  dies  away. 

ARISE ! 

ARISE !  the  morning's  sword  of  light 
Has  smitten  down  rebellious  haze ; 
And  hark !  caparisoned  for  fight, 
Thy  gallant  charger  champs  and  neighs. 


THE  POEMS  OF 


KANSAS  SKIES 

IF  skies  of  Hellas  moved  her  bards  to  sing 
The  songs  that  still  adown  the  ages  ring, — 
O  Kansas  poets,  lift  to  heaven  your  eyes ; 
How  rare  must  be  the  verse  to  match  your  skies ! 


MATERIALISM 

WHY  shouldst  thou  fear  material  trend  ? 
The  mother  earth  is  warm  and  true ; 
All  larger  natures  swerve  and  bend 
From  nether  green  to  upper  blue. 


HIDDEN  RESOURCES 

WITH  buttons  off  what  shall  we  do  ? 
Of  needles  here  is  not  a  sign ; 
But  squeeze  the  cushion,  and  in  view 
Are  needles  plenty,  coarse  and  fine. 

[132] 


IDA   AHLBOKN   WEEKS 


THE  LITTLE  ARMS 

ODEAR  !  the  little  arms 
That  draw  us  down  to  humble  ways, 
Secure  from  high  alarms 
We  brood  on  childhood's  holy  days. 


THE  SOLUTION 

HOW  long  I  vexed  myself  to  weigh 
The  difference  'twixt  right  and  wrong :  — 
Then  rang  a  Voice  all  must  obey, 

"  Drop  thou  thy  weights  and  sing  thy  song." 


RESIGNATION 

WHAT  Thou  givest  I  receive  as  well, 
What  withholdest  I  would  not  compel ; 
For  Thou  only  knowest,  Thou  alone, 
What  for  me  is  bread  and  what  is  stone. 

[US] 


THE  POEMS  OF 

WHO  LOVES 

WHO  loves  will  learn  to  know 
First  rapture  high, 
Then  pain,  whose  overflow 
Is  joy  that  cannot  die. 

TO  NATUKE 

HAVE  I  not  loved  thee  long  and  well  ? 
Nor  have  I  prated  in  the  crowd, 
And  made  my  love  a  thing  to  sell 
To  buy  my  soul  a  silken  shroud. 

WILD  FANCIES 

I  FEEL  her  clinging  to  my  gown, 
I  hear  her  toddling  feet ; — 
Wild  fancies  that  my  reason  drown, 
Wild  fancies,  yet  how  sweet ! 

INTERRUPTION 

I  CLOSED  the  volume  at  a  call, 
The  wondrous  story  partly  done ; 
And  now  I  cannot  find  at  all 
The  haunting  tale  I  had  begun. 
[134] 


IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


MY  CHOICE 

O    HEIGHTS  serene  I  might  have  known ! 
»  O,  shadowy  hand  from  cloudy  throne ! 
Yet  I  preferred  the  battle  plain, 
Kepenting  not  though  bullets  rain. 


A  PRAYER 

LET  me  not  pass  away  and  leave 
Unfinished  what  I  have  to  do ; 
Direct  me  that  I  may  achieve, 
And  still  my  strength  revive,  renew. 


HOW  FAR? 

HOW  far  can  bells  be  heard  ? 
The  bells  upon  the  car 
That  brings  you,  mark  my  word  I 
I  hear  afar,  afar ! 

L'35] 


POEMS  OF  IDA  AHLBORN  WEEKS 


REST 

OLOVE,  I  rest  in  thee, 
Secure  as  on  the  sea 
The  sea-gull  poises  there, 
At  home  on  deep,  in  air. 


GREAT  SOULS 

GREAT  souls  thrive  everywhere, 
The  task,  the  time,  and  place 
Transcending  by  a  grace 
More  subtle  than  the  air. 


"I'M  NOBODY  "—EMILY  DICKINSON 

O  EMILY,  your  rank  attracts  me  so 
That  in  your  company  I  fain  would  go ; 
We'll  be  a  pair  no  heralds  will  pursue, 
And  from  the  world  we  shall  receive  our  due. 


[136] 


.,  OF  CALIF,  LIBr.ABY,,  LOS  ANGEUBS 


